The League of Bats
by santeg1
Summary: Ra's Al Ghul has grown tired of Bruce Wayne's refusal to replace him as the leader of The League of Assassins and has concluded that in order to impose his will on the world once more, he must instead replace Bruce and become Batman. This sparks the beginning of a dark reign as Ra's builds his own bat family to counter the current heroes who reside in the streets of Gotham.
1. A Deadly Reunion

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 1:**

**A Deadly Reunion**

The sands are silent. It has been quite some time since the sultry sultana sunk her feet into the hot gravel, but she knows the winds in the Arabian deserts are always restless. Only a supernatural stir would cause them to cease. The fountain of youth known as the Lazarus Pit had been activated once again…

"Land here," shouts the peremptory princess to the pilot.

The copter lands delicately before the domineering damsel exits the aircraft, accompanied by her armed guard.

"But ma'am, there's nothing here. It's just… sand."

She signals the pilot to leave, ignoring the insight of her escort.

"Come, we've no time to waste," she states sternly as they travel across the dunes.

After traveling for four miles on foot, she spots a small summit in the middle of an otherwise oblate plain.

"There," states the pulchritudinous potentate, pointing to the lone structure.

"That? That's what we came here and walked four miles in one-hundred and three degrees of dry heat for?" asks the half-witted hooligan, huffing behind her.

"It's been three point seven miles in one hundred and two point two degrees," explains the enchanting empress. "You aren't being paid to complain, now do your job and stay close. For both of our sakes…"

As they draw near the dune, the titillating temptress takes a bantam blade from her belt and begins to carve away at the sand.

"Uh, you sure this is the time to be carving sand sculptures, boss?"

"Keep talking and I'll be carving sculptures out of _you_," she threatens.

Beneath the sand, a stone demon skull is revealed. The viperous vixen places her fingers on the horns sticking from the sides of the statue and the bluff begins to slide backward, revealing a staircase beneath. Her bodyguard bears a flashlight in his left hand and tucks it under his right arm containing a semi-automatic pistol with an ignited laser sight of green color.

"What's your name?" asks his overbearing overseer as they slowly make their way down the stone stairwell.

"Huh? Oh, um, it's Scott," he answers.

"Scott what?"

"Scott Fitzpatrick," states the simple soldier, somewhat confused at her sudden interest in his identity.

"I see," responds the ravishing regent.

"Wait, I thought you said you didn't care about my name? What happened, got a crush on me or something?" infers the inept infantry with a smirk.

"Hardly. I was just curious what name they were going to put on the gravestone."

"The wha-"

Scott's sentence is stilled as a shuriken severs his hands. Screaming in agony, he is quickly silenced when another serrated star slits his throat. Blood banishes from his body through the laceration in his neck as he falls to his knees.

Thinking quickly, the skilled sultana cartwheels to the left, simultaneously grabbing both the flashlight and the gun from the step and flips over the attacker and lands at the bottom of the staircase. She shines the blinding bulb onto her opponent, revealing the murderer to be a masked ninja before firing two shots at the swift killer as he asserts his attack. One is dodged while the other is deflected by a single edged sword being gripped tightly by skilled hands. Before the sparks dim from the ricocheting bullet, the assassin swipes his sword, splitting the gun in two. She drops the futile firearm; the barrel fully separating from the butt of the pistol as it plummets to the ground. Without a wasted movement, the rebounding regent removes her knife from the sheath on her waste and blocks the following strike.

"Cease your attack!" she shouts with conviction. "I command it!" shouts the beautiful baroness before shining the light on her face, revealing her identity.

After taking a moment to examine her face, the assassin sheaths his blade and bows his head.

"My apologies, princess," he says. "It has been a long time since you have been seen in these parts. I didn't recognize you. I pray you weren't harmed in the ordeal."

"Not at all," she confirms as she sheathes her knife. "The same cannot be said for Mr. Fitzpatrick, however," she states, observing his corpse sprawled over the staircase with a river of blood flowing to the bottom

"My apologies once again, madam. I hope he was not someone of great importance to you."

"It is of no concern."

She shines her light around the area, seeing only a stone wall before them, noticing a small slit in one of the bricks, just large enough for a blade.

"If you would be so kind?" she requests.

"My honor."

The assassin unsheathes his sword once more, inserting the tip into the brick. He proceeds to turn the blade, simulating a large key. A hidden entrance is revealed as the brick wall caves in, sliding to the left. Behind the door is a large corridor with no less than twenty rooms on either side of the hall. The assassin bows his head and extends his hand toward the entrance.

"It is a privilege to welcome you back, Miss Talia Al Ghul."

As she makes her way down the wing, Talia is awed by the beauty inside the structure. The walls look as if they were carved from white marble and the décor was something one would marvel at in museums. Had she really been away that long that she had forgotten the roots of her forerunner? Making her way to the end of the passageway, the former princess of assassins was approaching an opened path to a larger room. A grunting sound emerges from the enclosure ahead as she slowly advances into the spacious accommodation.

Finding herself in what appears to be a training area, Talia is stunned once again by the décor. The tools are new, different. Instead of ropes to climb and logs to lift, they were replaced with iron rings, dumbbells, barbells and benches. All ancient methods were scrapped for more current, state of the art training equipment. After glancing over the quarters, Talia looks upon the lone figure that stands before her.

"Hello father," she says with a softer tone than she has been used to speaking for quite some time.

His back is facing her as he presses a barbell which appears to weigh more than half a ton over his head, the king of killers lowers the bar below his waste and sets it down on the ground. When he turns to her, Talia observes her father's face as he appears younger than ever before, seeming to be barely out of his late twenties. While he was always a man of great strength, his musculature is now far more advanced than ever before. The majestic murderer walks toward Talia with opened arms.

"My dearest Talia, it has been far too long," he states before embracing her. "Truly as beautiful as ever. You don't look to have aged a day," he claims, cupping her cheek with a smile."

"Thank you, father. I am glad to see you as well," she says, placing her hand upon his and leaning into his embrace. It was a relief to feel the comfort of her father's touch again. Something she hadn't received very often, even when within his reach. "This place…" she states with concern, glancing around the quarters, "it is… you've changed it so much. Is everything alright?"

Releasing a sigh from his throat, the sadistic sage strokes a lock of her hair before turning away.

"I cannot lie to you, my dear. The League of Assassins has not been very… successful in our conquests as of late."

"A new enemy?" asks Talia as she slowly wanders the area, studying the new appliances.

"Some are more familiar than others. You see, daughter, The League does not instill the same amount of dread to our opponents as we have previously. Our enemies are sleeping more and more comfortably as time moves forward. They are becoming accustomed to us."

"That can't be true, father. You alone carry enough fear and respect to send chills through the spines of even the most formidable of adversaries," claims Talia as she makes her way toward her father's sword which is modestly displayed through glass.

"How I wish that were the case," declares the dismayed demon, walking toward his daughter. "There was a time where even mentioning the name of Ra's Al Ghul, The Demon's Head, could instill fear to an entire continent." He places his hand on the case holding his sword. "Sadly, those times are now behind us," claims Ra's as he removes his hand and walks away. "Now they fear another. One whose mere presence would make even the most daring tremble in despair." He turns slightly toward Talia with animosity in his gaze. "I speak of The Batman."

"We have tried tirelessly to win his allegiance, father. There is nothing we can offer him that he will accept." She lowers her head, keeping her voice low with a sliver of sadness escaping her lips. "Not even a family…"

"And it is in that respect, my darling, where we have been far too foolish for far too long," Ra's retorts as he journeys toward a workbench for blacksmithing. "The Detective has been the most formidable of all the foes faced by the League of Assassins. He has become a symbol, one that makes the scum of this earth shudder in the dark. They revere him as a child reveres the boogieman."

The brilliant baron removes the sheet atop the workbench, revealing a new sword as he unsheathes the beautiful blade from its green marbled black casing. The saber shares many traits with that of an eastern ninjato, featuring a straight blade with a single edge that is serrated toward the hilt. The handle is a black Tsuka style hilt with a hand guard decorated in Egyptian hieroglyphs.

"He possesses everything he needs to make a difference in the world. Skill, knowledge, instinct, the passion and drive to fight against all that is wrong with this world. He has even formed a clan to spread his flawed form of justice worldwide."

"What does all of this mean for us, father. Are you suggesting that we join him in his conquests?"

"My dear Talia, you've mistaken me. I'm not saying to _join_ the Batman and his family of street bred vigilantes. I'm saying we _**replace**_ them!" he shouts, thrusting his sword straight in the air. "With all of the potential he holds, he lacks the courage to do what is necessary. For too long has he refused to take my throne and be my heir by your side. It is time for me to break this pointless exile and take action. It is time that_** I **_take _**his**_ throne and become the Batman that this world has needed from the very start!"

Talia stares at her father in shock, barely able to comprehend the ideal that he has put forth.

"What do you need from me?" she asks, still trying to conceive the notion Ra's has presented to her.

He picks up another sword off of the bench and stands in front of his baffled daughter.

"As long as I have known The Detective, he is always accompanied by a trusted ward. If I am going to be Batman, I will need those I can trust by my side to assist me in my conquest for true order." Ra's holds the sword out to Talia. "Take your place by my side once again, princess. Be my Batgirl, so we may rewrite the world as father and daughter."

Talia's is stunned as the satiny saber is presented to her. It resembles that of her father's, with the exception of a purple marbling decorated upon the sheath, where her Ra's' is green. Removing the blade, the fatal female examines the flawless craftsmanship. It appeared sharp enough to cut through steel, yet was so light it felt to be merely an extension of her arm. She looks into her father's now youthful eyes and feels a sense of determination that she had not seen from him in a very long time, if ever at all. Quickly sheathing her sword, Talia bows her head to him.

"My will is yours, father. Together we will succeed where he has failed."

"I cannot express the joy you've given me, my darling Talia," he claims as he smiles, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I would not be where I am without you and I would not wish to continue on if you were not with me now."

"I'm grateful for your praise, father," she states as she lowers her head.

"As _I_ am grateful for your loyalty, daughter. Now, there is much to do before we can begin to impose our will," says Ra's as he sheathes his sword and places it back on the bench. "You still have access to the technologies of LexCorp, correct?"

"I do."

"Excellent. Your first task is to design and construct suits of armor using your advanced resources. _Batsuits_, if you will." says Ra's as he makes his way back over to the exercise equipment. "His _costume_ is the very essence of his intimidation and we are going to counter The Detective, our fittings and devices must be as daunting and innovative as his," he explains before launching himself onto the iron rings.

"As you wish, father. I shall begin my fabrications immediately," states Talia as she turns to take her leave.

"One more thing, my dear," interrupts Ra's, after pulling himself up onto the rings.

"Yes father?" asks Talia, pausing just before the exit.

"Do not mistake me for a simpleton. I'm very aware of the conflict that is present within you at the moment. Your love for him is still extremely prevalent," he states before flipping forward and pulling himself back up. "I hope that when the time comes, you will make the right decision, for your sake. _**And his**_."

"… Understood."

Talia exits the room and makes her way up the corridor. She glances at an opened door exposing a room with a floor of sand that is occupied by squared gravestones. Talia observes as two assassins lower a body into a freshly dug grave. The stone before the hole reads "_Scott Fitzpatrick"_. The cunning countess finally reaches the end of the corridor where an assassin is waiting for her at the top of the staircase. As she makes her way outside, Talia is greeted by the harsh winds of a hovering helicopter.

"I have already arranged for your departure to Metropolis, madam," the assassin assures.

"Thank you," she replies as she boards the aircraft. Once she is fully buckled into her seat, the assassin signals the pilot to take off.

As the copter travels higher into the air, Talia begins to ponder her father's words. How could she be expected to choose between the only two men she had ever loved? A tear departs from her duct, before quickly being wiped from her cheek.


	2. Building the Bat

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 2:**

**Building the Bat**

The high temperatures from the hot springs beneath the sands of the scorching desert provide a proper method for the recuperation of Ra's Al Ghul. With the Lazarus Pits to aid him for all of these centuries, he lacked both the need and the desire to push his body to new limits. Though the sorcerous solution amplified his physical attributes beyond that of a normal human being, it was his arrogance that allowed The Bat to outmatch him in all of their previous altercations. How else could a mere man, a mere _child_, defeat the seven hundred years of combat mastery possessed by that of legendary Demon Head? It is an embarrassing offense that cannot, and _will_ not, be allowed transpire again.

Uneasy in his thoughts, Ra's pulls himself out of the refreshing spa and is delivered a delicate, cotton towel by his obedient servant, Ubu. Once he is completely dried, the assassin leader gives Ubu his towel and, in return, is offered a loose pair of white, silk pants. He slides them onto his legs and ties them loosely at the waste before exiting the steam filled quarter and stepping into the restroom next door. Once in front of the mirror, the alleviated king of killers yields a small razor in hand and begins to shave the sideburns and mustache that he had maintained for centuries. After admiring his un-aged appearance with a stroke of his now smooth cheeks, Ra's exits the washroom and wonders down the lengthy corridor. Finally, he reaches a door leading into a vast room, resembling that of a modern dojo. The floors are matted with interlocking black mesh mats and metal sword racks blanket the rosewood walls. Ra's conveniently removes a sword from the rack nearest to the door and gradually makes his way to the center of the abode.

"Expose," he says, his voice echoing off the far-reaching walls of the practice arena.

Like wolves preying in the night, three hundred assassins descend from the shadows of the massive dojo, surrounding their master.

"Draw."

In an instant, all of them draw their weapons and ready themselves for combat.

Slowly, The Demon Head removes his sword and casts the sheath to the ground beside him. Standing with his arms by his waist, his right hand firmly gripping the hilt of the saber, the ancient warrior conveys one final order to his disciples.

"Attack…"

Three hours pass and Talia, having recently returned after two weeks in Metropolis, seeks out her father to discuss her work on their new apparel. Walking down the main corridor, she spots the evil emperor exiting the combat training area, covered in blood.

"Father?!" she shouts as she runs up to Ra's before he can even close the door behind him. "What happened? Are you alright?" she asks frantically, examining him for wounds.

"I'm fine, my dear," says the master assassin with partial laughter in his speech. "I was merely putting my men through some… trials, to see who might be worthy of serving me as Robin."

"Robin? You've chosen a Robin?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear," he declares disappointedly. "The test was to see who among them was capable of landing a single blow upon their master. As I'm sure you'll find through further inspection, none of them were successful," he states as he opens the door further, revealing all three hundred former assassins reduced to dismembered and mangled corpses.

With an expression of utter astonishment, Talia gazes at the death dealt by her father's lethal hands. She shifts her focus to his face, realizing that the immortal man she once knew is transcending into a being greater than he had previously been perceived. He is in the midst of a transformation, waiting to emerge as the fierce and noble savior capable of eliminating the evil impurities that plague humanity. While the fate of the man whose child she bore grows grimmer by the day, the renowned princess of slaughter could not help but be proud of her predecessor.

"Come, let us get you cleaned. I've already instructed Ubu to arrange the throne room so I may present your new armor to you properly," says Talia as she escorts her father to the lavatory.

"As efficient as ever, my darling," responds the blood soaked warrior, accompanying his daughter with a smile.

After cleansing the remnants of carnage from his skin with a moistened cloth, Ra's removes his silk pants, which have now attained a crimson tone. He replaces the garments with his royal garb, composed of a green colored tuxedo with a long green cloak, outlined in gold. The assassin leader then proceeds to the throne room with Talia.

Arriving at their destination, Ra's sits in his chair as his daughter nods to Ubu, indicating that the presentation is about to begin. The obedient servant adheres to his majesty's request as he signals for two slaves. They deliver an object on wheels that is draped in a white sheet.

"As you know, father, The Batman and I have had a long and… intimate relationship together. Over the years, I have formed a bond with him that few others could ever hope to achieve. Through that bond, I have learned many secrets. Secrets that I know will aid you in conquest to bring true justice to society. With my in depth knowledge and invaluable resources, I present to you the first step to your successful triumph. Your very own, Batsuit."

Talia removes the sheet with one, swift gesture. In turn, she exposes the regal, yet terrifying image, designed for her king to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked, as it stands perched on a pure white manikin.

The Demon Head's eyes expand in awe as he surveys his new attire.

"Talia… this is truly remarkable," he states, still fixated on the uniform.

"Your contention is my delight, father," she claims with a smile. "Allow me to clarify the details of its construction. The torso, along with the leggings, is a single piece bodysuit composed of lightweight Kevlar. There are thin plates of titanium positioned over the major muscle groups and vital areas, all without limiting your full range of motion," she explains as she runs her hand down the front of the charcoal grey armor. "Your utility belt is comprised of titanium capsules for storage," states Talia as she opens one of the glossy, golden colored canisters. "The front portions would be used to contain weapons, such as explosive dust, poison darts, nerve gasses and blinding powders. The rear compartments would be used for other tools such as fingerprint kits, DNA scanners, cotton swabs and plastic test tubes for collecting samples. There is also a niche on the left side of the waist to grasp the sheath of your katana." The brilliant matron then lifts the right arm of the dummy, displaying the polished, black gauntlets that embrace the forearms. "Your gauntlets are not only for protection, but aggression, as well," she states as she turns the palms to face upward. "As you can see, the deadly blade along the edge is accompanied by compartment beneath the wrist on each arm where you may access your throwing stars, or _Batarangs_." She then demonstrates by slipping one of the bat-shaped projectiles from its chamber.

"Astounding, my dear. Truly astounding," says Ra's with a sense of pride in his voice.

"Thank you, father. Now there is the matter of your cowl. Directly under the first layer, there is a thin lead lining to prevent the use of x-rays. This way, your identity cannot be revealed against your will. The cranial roof is pressure sensitive. Once you place the cowl on your head, the oculars will emit a green colored glow. This will advance your ocular spectrum, allowing you to perceive the surrounding area's in both infrared and night vision. The _ears_ will act as auditory sensors and emit sonar waves, which will also allow you to perceive objects through walls and other solid objects." She stands up straight and turns to her father, placing her hands behind her back. "Did you have any questions?"

"You presented yourself wonderfully, Talia. But yes, I do have a query or two," responds the noble aristocrat as he rises from his throne and steps closer to his new apparel. "What is the function of the black padding on the upper torso? One shoulder comes to a point while a cape dangles over the other. It seems to lack any purpose other than displaying the symbol, as well as the seemingly useless garb sewn to the inside of the belt. All it appears to do is drape over the legs, serving no purpose other then to flap in the wind, would you not agree?"

"I would agree, father," she acknowledges with confidence. "However, one of your stipulations, if I remember correctly, was to look _daunting_, was it not?"

Ra's strokes his chin, taking his daughter's words into account while examining the suit.

"Think about it," asserts Talia as she circles around him. "The image that remains in the minds of all who have felt his wrath is the black silhouette in the light of the moon, perched upon the peak of a rooftop. His cape, flowing in the wind as his glowing eyes glare through you like a knife through the heart. That is the portrait of fear that he paints in their minds. That is the demon that haunts their dreams." She takes her father by the arm and leads him closer to the foreboding garments until his nose nearly touches that of the cowl. "Gaze into its eyes, my king," remarks the priestess of pain as she places her hand atop the cowl, igniting the glowing green goggles. "Recognize the despair that awaits all those in your path. Embrace it, and impart its darkness to shed a new light onto the world."

The lord of oblivion assumes a sinister stare directly into the bright green light.

"Do you have a suit prepared as well?" he asks without offering so much as a blink from his fixed glare.

"Indeed," responds Talia.

"Good." He turns and walks over to the pit of fire that illuminates his throne room. Removing his cape, Ra's tosses his ancient cloak into the flames, destroying it. "Prepare yourself, my beloved child," he warns before glancing over his shoulder. "Tomorrow, we leave for Gotham."


	3. Fear Itself

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 3:**

**Fear Itself**

_**Arabian Desert,**_

_**League of Assassins Headquarters**_

_**48 hours ago**_

__"Do you feel it, Talia? How The Pit changes you? How quickly your body is willing to develop? How clear your senses have become?" inquires Ra's as his daughter maintains an iron cross position on the hanging rings within the training area.

"I do, father," responds the ravishing regent with little stress in her voice, hauling herself higher onto the rings. Slowly, she lowers herself down with her eyes closed and takes a deep breath through her nose. With the air escaping her lips, Talia opens her eyes. Her vision is enhanced, the scents in the air are much more apparent before. Looking down at her hands, her skin still moist from the elixir of the Lazarus Pit, Talia recognizes that her physique is far more advanced than ever. She's stronger, more agile and her muscles are adapting more readily to her physical training.

"Amazing, is it not? For over six hundred years I've used these Pits, yet only now do I fully understand them," claims The Demon Head, walking to the large pool of rejuvenation. "It was always said that the Lazarus Pit renewed you to your physical prime, thus allowing you to live forever, unhindered by the effects of aging. However, the true gift is opportunity. The ability to push yourself further, achieving greater feats than one could in a body that is limited to bodily decay, thus unveiling your true potential. That, my dear, is the _real_ fortune granted by the Lazarus Pit," he explains as he stands above the steaming liquid of immortality.

"I understand it now. Just as The Pits allowed us to strengthen our empire through longevity, it also enables us to strengthen bodies and evolve," Talia recognizes. "It's… all so clear."

Smiling at his daughter's assertion, Ra's turns from The Pit and makes his way back to her.

"It is time, my child. Suit up," he demands sternly. She nods before exiting the training quarter and traveling down the corridor.

Entering her living chamber, Talia walks over to a keyboard near the far wall. She inputs a 4 digit code, #411. Soon after, the wall splits down the center and slides to each side. As the small amount of dust from the parted rock clears the opening, the baroness' Batsuit is revealed.

Assuming the black Kevlar armor, outfitted with a stenciled purple bat symbol, the fatal female foresees the future with excitement_. _

"_This is what father and I have been waiting decades to accomplish!"_ She smiles in the mirror as she whips the black cape around her neck. The cloak's inner surface is stitched with purple material. _"Finally, we will rid the world of parasites. Finally we will be able to make a difference and remove all that oppose us!"_ She places the golden utility belt around her waist before removing the pointed mask perched on the head of the manikin. _"Even… even Bruce…"_ Just before adorning her cowl, Talia halts, contemplating a future without the man she once dreamed to call husband. _"All this time we have tried to make him see. We invited him to assume father's throne, complete with a wife and child to carry on his legacy. Yet, he refused it all. He fought against us, bravely standing for what he believes in. But… he's wrong… isn't he?"_ Talia turns the mask toward her face, staring into the eyes of the cowl. _"And our son…can I, at the very least, spare him this terrible fate? Or…or has he been corrupted as well…too blinded to accomplish what is necessary?" _Slumping backward onto the bed behind her, the queen of execution completely comprehends the inevitable conclusion of her decision. _"Does the fate of the world truly outweigh the fate of those I love?"_

The bedroom door opens abruptly, catching Talia's attention. She gradually rotates her head until her eyes meet with the chilling sight of the fully adorned Dark Knight.

"Batgirl…" speaks the ominous figure, his eyes emitting a dim, green hue.

Talia stands from her bed, stepping toward her father in a state of awe at his magnificence.

"Are you ready to begin our reign of fear over the city of Gotham?" he asks her, offering her sword one final time.

Glancing down at the sword, the newly anointed baroness of bats dons her cowl at long last. As her eyes ignite a purple glow, she gracefully retrieves the saber from the former Demon Head.

"I am ready… Batman."

_**Gotham City,**_

_**Present Day**_

__Nights in Gotham always hold their fair share of despicable acts. They span across all corners of the city. This night, is no different.

Scheduled for demolition in one week's time, the Holy Mother's Christian Church, once a place that provided comfort and hope, is now host to one of the most infamous and menacing of Gotham's criminals.

Up in the bell tower of the former house of God, a fifteen year old girl lays bound and gagged. Trembling in tears, she examines her surroundings, her breaths shiver under the cloth that constricts her mouth. Flutters in the air startle her as a crow lands on the edge of the balcony. The creature observes her, its squawks echo in the empty chamber.

Suddenly, the trap door leading down into the church unhinges, causing the black bird to fly from its perch. The young woman whimper's as she hears the approaching footsteps. It is too dark for her to identify the assailant, but she can see the tall, skinny silhouette outlined by the starts illuminating the sky. She makes out a long pointed hat and what appears to be a sack clutched in his right hand.

Grabbing her by the ropes that bind her, the kidnapper pulls the girl into the sack, her screams muffled by the gag. He throws her over his shoulder and deliberately makes his way down into the dark chapel. The culprit places the girl on a wooden chair, facing the crucifix hanging above the confession booth. Once the sack is removed from her head, she sees the bright light glimmering over dangling rood. The sobbing adolescent gazes at the setting before her.

"I've been watching you for quite a while now, Melissa," alleges a ghoulish, disembodied voice that echoes throughout chantry. "You're just the average teenage girl. Decent grades, well liked by the school staff. A few close friends that you grab a cup of coffee with on Fridays, acting as if you're a full grown adult, like most young girls aspire to be. Then, two days ago as you were walking home from the bus stop, the large German Shepard across the street got over the fence. He just wanted to play, but you released a gut wrenching scream as he ran toward you. You felt silly afterward, wondering why you reacted as foolishly as you did. But I didn't think it was foolish, Melissa… You were simply utilizing the prize granted by emotion… You reacted that way… because you were _**afraid**_."

Melissa breaks down as an almost pleading wail of mercy emanates from her throat.

"Yeeessssss…"

Melissa's eyes dilate as she can now feel the breath of her terrorist resting on the back of her ear.

"You're frightened… and it's… intoxicating…" claims the crazed villain in an unsettling tone as he strokes the cheek of his terrified victim.

Her entire body stiffens in horror as she feels the cold fingers stream down her face. Holding her breath, the frightened child is unable to move.

"Let go… give in to the gift of fear…" He walks around and places his hands on Melissa's shoulders. "**YOU CANNOT RESIST THE SCARECROW**!" shouts the deranged doctor as he suddenly shoves his face into hers. "**HEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHA!**" Scarecrow expels a chilling laugh as the smothered cries of his prey quench his thirst for terror.

After a whizzing sound cuts through the air, the bulb illuminating the room bursts. Shards of glass fall to the floor; the church is now pitch black in darkness.

"Huh? What happened?" inquires Scarecrow as he looks around the room, unable to see through the blackness.

"_**I**_ happened…" says a deep voice, reverberating through the chapel.

"And who might you be?" asks the crazy chemist as he crawls, searching for his lantern.

"In due time, Crane. Right now, I want to talk about you…"

"Is that so? What are you curious to learn about me before I end your pitiful life?"

"There's nothing about you I don't already know, Jonothan Crane, son to Karen Crane. Your father never cared to know you and your mother left you with your great-grandmother who was an abusive religious fanatic. You committed your first murder at the age of eighteen where you developed your love of frightening your victims. You studied psychology at Gotham University and acquired an interest in chemistry, catalyzing the creation of your infamous _fear toxin. _

"Something you'll become quite familiar with soon enough," threatens Crane under his breath, still struggling to find his lantern.

"You also developed your own fighting style," continued the voice. "You refer to it as _violent dancing, _basing it off of _**crane**_ style kung-fu. While laughable in its execution, I can't deny the cleverness behind your reasoning."

"You're beginning to bore me. Were my body actually made of straw, I'd have withered away by now… what's the point to all of this?"

"The same point you were attempting to make to your defenseless victim, Doctor Crane. _I know you_. And I know what makes you _**afraid**_."

The Scarecrow finally retrieves his lantern and stands to his feet.

"Ah, I understand now. You want to scare The Scarecrow, is that it? Well, happy as I may be to disappoint you, I'm **afraid** you're out of luck. I don't feel fear… I don't feel **anything **anymore**.** But I'll let you in on a little secret… The only thing that can frighten me, make me feel, is The Batman," he states, inflaming his lantern. "And you are **not** Batman."

The psychotic professor turns his back, only to find himself staring up into the glowing green eyes of Ra's Al Ghul, bearing the cowl of The Dark Knight.

"I beg to differ…"

"**PWAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!**"

The blood curdling scream of The Scarecrow packed enough volume to be heard throughout the entire east side of city. There is a new Batman on the rise, ready to make his mark on the crime syndicate of Gotham.


	4. Framework

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 4:**

**Framework**

_**Gotham City, **_

_**Holy Mother's Christian Church**_

"Did anyone get in touch with The Commissioner yet?"

"Yes sir, Detective Bullock," responds the officer. "He said he was on his way."

"It's been a half an hour! What the hell is taking him so-"

"What've we got, Harvey," interrupts The Commissioner, presenting his badge to the GCPD officer.

"About damn time. It was Scarecrow, Jim. We found him nailed to the bell tower up there," he explains as he points to the top of the church. The streaks of blood where the hideous heel was hanged still glow in the moonlight.

Bullock motions to one of the officers before being handed a bag with a crimson stained blade placed inside.

"Imagine one of those through your shoulder. It's like they tried to crucify the bastard."

"Who made the call?" asks The Commissioner, examining the blade.

"Young girl by the name of Melissa O'Neil. She'd been reported missing by her mother about four days ago," states Harvey. "She ran down to 45th knocking on doors until an old woman finally let her in."

"How'd she escape?"

"She said she was saved by Batgirl," replies Bullock. "Claims Batman had Crane distracted while Batgirl untied her and told her to run. She started running until she heard a scream come from inside the church. Then she started sprinting." He reaches into his pocket and presents Jim with a batarang placed inside a plastic evidence bag. "It was inside, under the crucifix. Looks like he used it to take out the bulb."

"And she says only Batman and Batgirl were in there that night, nobody else?" asks the Commissioner as he examines the Batarang.

"She said it was real dark, but no evidence suggests there was anyone else but them," responds Harvey.

Gordon remains silent, carefully studying the details to the condemning evidence.

"It's a Batarang, Jim…" says Bullock with a sarcastic tone.

"I know what it is, Harvey," replies Jim, his attention still fixed on the weapon.

"Then what else do you need to look at? I know what you're doing, Jim. You can look at that thing all you want, eventually you're gonna have to admit that The Bat finally snapped! I mean, what did you expect, really? He's a mask, Gordon. Sooner or later they all take it too far. Lets be honest, you can't think a guy who dresses up like a bat and runs on rooftops is gonna keep his hands clean forever. If you ask me, the real shock is that he lasted this long."

Gordon analyzes the batarang some more, weighing it in his hand, observing every possible detail. Something was…odd.

"Other than being untied, did the victim have any other contact with Batman or Batgirl?" asks Gordon.

"No. She ran as soon as she got the chance and never looked back," answers Bullock."

"So Crane's the only real witness to what happened here… Great. Where's he at?"

"He's on his way to Gotham General right now. You should get there quick if you wanna talk to him though," claims Bullock.

"What's the rush?"

"By time you get there, we might have zero witnesses…"

_**Gotham City General Hospital**_

__"He got here just in time, lost a lot of blood," states the doctor as she escorts Commissioner Gordon to room #003. "But he should be stable now," she assures.

"_**AAAAHGH! CLOSE THE BLINDS! DON'T LET HIM COME! HE'S A DEMON! HE'LL KILL US! HE'LL KILL US ALL!**_" shouts Crane as nurses attempt to restrain him.

"Stable, eh?" says Gordon as he raises his eyebrow.

"I meant physically…" says the doctor.

"Lots of energy for a guy who lost so much blood," observes Gordon.

"Lots of adrenaline, too. Once he's calm, he'll be available for questioning."

"_**HIS EYES PEIRCED MY SKIN LIKE KNIVES! LIKE KNIVES!**_"

"No promises it'll be any time soon though…" conveys the doctor with a sigh.

Gordon looks on as the nurses attempt to restrain the raging patient. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the batarang he retrieved from the crime scene. Removing it from the evidence bag, he runs into the hospital room, pushing and shoving his way to Cranes bedside. Gordon holds the bat shaped tool to the deranged doctor's face, causing him to freeze in fear.

"Tell me what happened, John," asserts Gordon in a calm voice.

_"He came for me__**…**__" _whispers Crane, his gaze remaining locked to the black weapon. "_He tormented me with those glowing eyes… the devil's eyes … cutting through me as he did… not a word, not even a glance while I screamed in pain… and she just watched. Like a beautiful beast, she watched__**…**__"_

"Who watched, Crane? Who did this to you?" inquired Jim.

_"Shhhhh…. In time, Commissioner. He was very… specific. I was supposed to deliver a message... word for word, from beginning to end…_"

"What message, John. Go ahead, its okay," Gordon reassures him.

The petrified professor alters his expression from one of fear, to a blank, emotionless gaze before speaking with a deep, dark tone in his voice.

_"__The reason this wretched insect still breathes is to at last serve purpose with his miserable existence. Let him act as the prime example to all who walk this earth with wicked intentions. Know that to preserve this city, its scum must be purged without hesitation and punished without mercy. Look to his eyes and know the fear in his gaze as he declares the name that will write and uphold the new law of Gotham__**…**__" _ A tear streams down the now horrified patient's face as his trembling lips whisper the final word of his monologue. "Batman…"

There is a moment of solemn silence, as if the world needed time to comprehend the proclamation uttered by a troubled yet honest soul. The dismayed doctor of fright soon breaks down into tears. Jim pulls back from the bed and places the batarang back into the evidence bag before stuffing it back into his jacket.

"I think Dr. Crane could use some time alone," he suggests as he turns and exits the hospital room.

The doctor agrees and calls the nurses out before closing the door on the weeping patient. Gordon glances down at his watch and pulls out his cell phone.

"Say, I barely get any service out front, is there a way to the roof from here?" he asks the doctor.

"Just make a left at the end of the hall down there," she says, pointing in the direction in which she's referring. "There's a stairwell on the right, takes you all the way to the top."

"Thanks a lot," replies Jim with a slight smile before heading down the hallway.

Once he reaches the steps, he quickly sticks his phone back into his pants and jogs up the stairwell. After four flights, he finally reaches the top and walks outside onto the roof. After a moment of looking out over the city, a slight smirk arises on his face.

"Surprised he sent you here," says The Commissioner as he turns his back. "Red Robin now, right?"

"Batman's got his hands tied at the moment," says the burgundy bird as he reveals himself from the shadows.

"More than you know," Jim responds, tossing the bagged batarang to the young ward. "We found it at Holy Mother's Christian Church, along with a mutilated Scarecrow. All the evidence points to Batman and Batgirl."

"But…?" asks Red Robin, examining the evidence.

Jim lets out a sigh.

"But it doesn't feel right. The batarang, I mean. I've seen a lot of those over the years, held probably a thousand in my right hand alone. This one was… different. Felt too heavy," claimed the seasoned veteran.

"It's weighted on the edges," states the former boy wonder. "Batarangs are normally crafted to be lightweight so they don't penetrate the target too deeply, if at all. This wasn't meant for distraction. Whoever made this, made it to be lethal."

"That's not all," adds Gordon. "When they found Crane, he was nailed to the bell tower through his shoulders with two blades. They looked Japanese, but some of the markings had a Middle Eastern feel to me. Anyway, I'll get one to you as soon as I can get my hands on-"

"_**AAAAALLLLLLLGH!"**_

Red Robin leaps from the rooftop as The Commissioner quickly runs down the stairwell. The crimson vigilante dives through the already opened window where he lays his eyes on a horribly maimed Scarecrow. His abdomen had been cut diagonally, almost in half. Two policemen enter with their weapons pulled, a nurse behind them shouts in terror at the mangled corpse before her.

"FREEZE!" shouts one of the officers as he aims his weapon toward Red Robin.

The teenaged protector vaults out of the hospital room as he throws a disc at the officer's hand. The circular projectile finds a home on the officer's knuckle, causing him to drop his weapon and inadvertently knock into his partner, making him miss his target. The armed policeman runs to the window with his weapon just as Jim Gordon arrives to the door.

"What happened?!" demands The Commissioner.

"It was Red Robin, sir! We found him in here with… that," explains the officer as he points to the blood ridden body of Scarecrow.

"He's gone, sir," explains the officer by the window to the shocked commissioner. "Sir?"

"Uh, yes, deputy?" responds Jim, retaining his senses.

"Should we send a squad after him, sir?"

"No, no, he's long gone by now. Get back to the station, I'll need a warrant for Red Robin's arrest," Gordon replies.

"And Batman?" asks the officer.

Jim nods before the officer grabs his partner and heads out.

"I'm sorry, kid. Please, make me regret it…" he says under his breath.

_**Meanwhile…**_

__"Oracle! Oracle, come in!" shouts the crime fighting youth as he swings through the air with his grappling hook.

"I'm here, Tim. What's going on?" responds Oracle.

"We've got an imposter, Babs. This one knows what he's doing."

"Understood, where are you now?" she asks.

"I'm heading to The Cave, police are on my tail, though. I'll be there as soon as I'm sure they're gone," says Tim.

"The police? What happened down there?"

"I'll explain it when I get there, but I have a feeling I know who's behind this," claims the masked teen.

"You do? Who?" asks Barbara.

"I'll tell you as soon as I can stomach the thought of it…" he says, holding the lethal batarang in his palm.

Perched above the city on an old clock tower, a vigilant Ra's Al Ghul looks down upon the scurrying bird boy as he wipes his muddied blade of fresh blood.

"Fly, my carrier pigeon," says the newly crowned Bat of Gotham as he sheathes his sword.

"Bruce has trained young Timothy well, father," states Talia as she steps to her father's side.

"Indeed. He has trained all of his children well," responds Ra's.

"And he holds much pride in them," claims the beauty of bloodlust.

"All but one…" the master assassin mumbles to himself.

"What was that, father?"

"Nothing, my dear Batgirl. I believe I've decided who will serve me as Robin," declared the former Demon Head.

"I can arrange for a flight back to the desert tomorrow," assures Talia.

"That will not be necessary, my beloved daughter. For you see, the one I have in mind is right here… in Gotham."


	5. Brother Hood

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 5:**

**Brother Hood**

_**Gotham City,**_

_**3 Miles North of Crime Alley**_

Quiet nights on the dark streets of Gotham are never a sign of peace, but merely calm before a storm. Tonight is quiet, and the air is dampening quickly.

An entourage of four black Cadillacs arrives before a small apartment building on the corner block.

"This is the place. You sure about this, boss? The merc said he would take care of it for a good price."

"I'm positive. If this were just business, I'd have taken the offer, no question about it. But this, this is personal," responds the boss as he screws a silencer on his pistol.

"If you say so, Mr. Black Mask, sir," obeys the lacky.

"What room number did he say it was?" asks the ebony faced mobster, placing the gun inside the chest pocket of his black trench coat.

"Room #408," the goon replies.

"Signal the boys," he says to the driver. "We got four flights to go up before he realizes we're comin'."

The driver flashes the headlights twice, causing all of the men to exit the vehicles. Twenty in all, each armed with varying firearms, the crew enters the dwelling. The receptionist reacts nervously, standing to greet the thuggish looking faction as they move into the lobby.

"C-can I help you, gentlemen?" asks the tense, middle-aged woman behind the counter.

"Not tonight, dear," retorts Black Mask as he makes is way to the front of the pack. "You just relax and take a load off," he says before placing a silenced bullet into her forehead. "Room four o' eight. Up the stairs. Now."

The ruffians hurry up the stairs until they reach the fourth floor. They huddle around room #408 and wait for their leader to give the order. The black skulled murderer casually makes his way to the apartment. Standing before his destination, the crime leader clenches his weapon tight, readying himself for conflict. After a deep breath, he kicks in the door. The squad of cutthroat criminals rushes into the accommodation with their weapons drawn, only to find an abandoned abode.

"Nobody home, boss. Think he knew we were coming?" suggests the gangster.

Black Mask enters the room, scanning the area. Feeling a draft, he notices the window at the end of the room is wide open.

"You," he says to the hooligan behind him as he taps his shoulder, "check outside."

The armed goon cautiously makes his way to the window. Sticking his head outside, he looks down the sight of his firearm, browsing the street corner.

"I don't see nothin', bo- ALGH!"

Interrupted by a cord wrapping around his neck, the bewildered brute is pulled from the opening. His weapon falls to the sidewalk as he struggles while being dragged up the side of the building by his throat.

"He's on the roof! Get up there! Now, damn it!" demands Black Mask as he and his men rush to the top. Barging through the door leading to the roof, the gang of homicidal killers stands with their guns all aimed at their fellow convict. With the tip of a knife resting on his jugular, the slow-witted oaf struggles to hold back his tears of fear.

"Please, boss! Don't let him kill me! I ain't ready to die!" pleads the terrified criminal.

"Don't worry, Eddy," assures the dark faced leader. "He's not gonna kill ya," he claims as he places two bullets in the expendable minion's chest.

The fated fool falls to the floor, hunched over, lifeless.

"Drop the gun, Hood," orders the somber mob boss as he points his pistol at his target.

The Hood tosses the knife in front of him, placing his hands behind his head as an act of surrender.

"Heh, so this is it, huh?" chuckles Black Mask as he lowers his handgun. "After all the shit you put me through over the years, the Red Hood ends up bein' just another chump taken out by the Black Mask," he jests mockingly. "Tell me, how does it feel, huh? Doesn't feel good being the one whose home gets invaded, does it? Who's trying to get out of the hole when you don't see the other guy comin'. Right?!" shouts the black eyed killer in anger. "Well, at least after this we'll be able to sweep everything under the rug," he states before taking the silencer off of his pistol and aiming the barrel at Red Hood's skull. "Got any final words of wisdom you wanna share before I end your pitiful, _fuckin'_ life?"

Extending his right hand from behind his head, the crimson helmed outlaw reveals a concealed detonator.

"Yea," he responds as he presses the device. "Blow me."

The edge of the building behind Black Mask and his gang ignites in a massive explosion, followed by a string of eruptions circling the rim of the roof. Black Mask dives to the floor for cover as his goons are set aflame by the cleverly concealed explosives. While the mobsters are distracted, the fallen son of Batman quickly removes two magnums from under his jacket and sprints forward before the flames reach his side of the roof. Launching himself off of Eddy's corpse, he performs a back flip through the air, shooting two gangsters on either side of him as Eddy's arched carcass is swallowed in the blaze behind him. The remaining mobsters spared by the blaze of the discharged mines attempt to compose themselves and avenge their fallen comrades. Red Hood shoots the goon in front of him in the stomach, causing him to lean forward in pain. He rolls over the wounded criminals back and dispatches of the two thugs at the far side of the roof with deadly accuracy. After hearing the sound of cocked and readied firearms toward his left side, the crafty gunslinger wraps his left arm around the neck of his previously wounded victim, pulling him close. The helpless criminal absorbs the gunfire of his fellow gang members until their clips are emptied while Red Hood eliminates the three ruffians on his opposite side. Realizing they are out of ammunition, the remaining four delinquents rush forward, pulling knives from their belts. Turning his attention to the aggressive hooligans, the ruthless vigilante kicks his human shield toward the reckless thugs. Placing the last of his bullets in two of the final opponents, Red Hood drops his depleted weapons and prepares for unarmed combat. One adversary hesitates as the other attempts a downward stab. Following the flow of the attack, the skilled warrior directs the knife into the opponent's leg, causing him to stab his own thigh. The henchman screams in pain before being silenced by a stiff knee to the face, knocking him unconscious. The final attacker remains tentative, faking and slashing at Red Hood, trying not to get too close. Unfazed by the distant and useless attempts by his enemy, the experienced outlaw smacks the knife out of the assailants hand and delivers a back hand to the jaw. Outraged by the belittling tactic, the humiliated simpleton throws a reckless right hook toward Red Hood's face. He lands the punch on the top of the anti-hero's helmet, causing him to coddle his hand while grimacing in pain.

"C'mon, is that all you got?" mocks the tempered mercenary.

Shouting in frustration, the careless hoodlum attacks the fallen boy wonder with a predictable maneuver once again. Dodging the attack this time, Red Hood counters with a right cross to the solar plexus, following up with a left uppercut to the jaw and finishing his opponent with a heel kick to the chin.

"Might wanna take some karate classes or something for next time, kid," states the red helmed brawler to his grumbling victim.

"There ain't gonna be a next time, Hood," states Black Mask as he places the barrel of his magnum to the back of Red Hood's neck. "You put up a good fight, like always. Just wasn't good enough this time," he claims before cocking the gun.

The battle tested outlaw tenses his body, knowing that one slip could mean the end. Suddenly, he hears a whistling in the air. It's a familiar sound, one that usually signifies the arrival of his former forerunner. The whistling ceases as the projectile reaches its destination, but there was something peculiar about the moment impact. Red Hood could still feel the cool metal of Black Mask's firearm upon the back of his neck, causing him to question where the weapon had landed. The curious crime fighter cautiously turns to face his enemy, revealing that a batarang had deeply penetrated the right side his skull. Red Hood watches in shock as the lifeless charcoal headed mobster topples to the ground, blood releasing from his wound.

"Boss? BOSS!" screams the beaten henchman as he regains consciousness. "You killed him, you bastard! You kill- HULG!"

The goon is silenced as another batarang slices across his throat. Red Hood turns and watches as the gang member grunts and gargles, drowning in his own blood. He turns to the direction the weapons came from, revealing two seemingly familiar, yet oddly peculiar figures observing him from the accompanying rooftop. They disappear into the shadows. Hoping to follow the mysterious silhouettes, the young killer of criminals rushes to gather his weapons. Crouching to the ground, he quickly reloads his magnums.

"Jason," a voice whispers.

Red Hood swiftly turns to aim his weapon before a spike enters the barrel. His weapon now rendered useless, Jason drops it to the floor. He is taken back to see that the presence before him is that of his former mentor, joined by Batgirl. With a second glance, he realizes that this swindler is not the man he once called father, nor is his female partner a familiar member of the troop. The fearless vigilante prepares himself for another altercation.

"Ease yourself, boy. I am not here to quarrel with you," claims the imposter.

"Yea? Well, since you trashed my gun and do a crappy Batman impression, forgive me if I call B.S.," replies Jason.

"Yes, well, forgive me for damaging your 'weapon', but I've always found such firearms to lack a sense of elegance and sophistication."

"Oh my, how _beastly_ of me," claims Red Hood, mockingly imitating the proper accent of the individual before him. "Look, if you came here to talk Shakespeare with me I've got better things to-" He desists from his speech as the apparent Batgirl removes her cowl, revealing her identity. "Talia? What are you…?"

"You were correct, Batgirl. This one does have quite the attitude," observes the green eyed Batman as he also removes his cowl, revealing himself as Ra's Al Ghul.

"Talia would know all about that…" says Jason, still trying to comprehend what Ra's and Talia could be doing in Gotham dressed in such garb.

"She knows much about you, child. She also suggested that you have great skill in the art of murder," suggests Ra's as he scans the rooftop of corpses. "While you showed great potential, I personally conclude that your form and overall focus could use some fine tuning."

"Who are you, Simon Cowell? Look, I get by just fine. Now I don't know what you came here for, but you just wasted about ten minutes I'll never get back. Now if you'll excuse me…" states Jason firmly before turning his back.

"Ten minutes you wouldn't have had in the first place had I not intervened," retorts Ra's.

The red helmed outlaw halts his exit.

"I've been extremely patient with you, boy. You've mocked my speech and turned your back to me; acts that not many men would have lived through. Now you will look me in the eye and heed my offer, before I decide your services are no longer worth your insolence!" demands the former Demon Head.

Jason remains still, his head tilted toward the floor.

"Jason, this is not the time to be snarky," asserts Talia. "Just hear our offer. I think you owe us that much."

After a moment, the ferocious crime fighter turns and faces Ra's Al Ghul.

"Fine. Talk," he states before crossing his arms.

Ra's raises his eyebrow before a smirk runs across his lips.

"Jason Todd. Former Robin, murdered by the Joker and miraculously reanimated through crisis. When my daughter found you, you were little more than a mindless zombie. Through the gift of the Lazarus Pit, you were reborn. The Detective leads you to believe that this changed you, turned you into a sociopath. And, you know what? He was right. He has referred me a sociopath as well. At first, I thought of his claim as an insult. As something to be looked down upon. In reality, his words should have felt my embrace, rather than my discontent. For you see, I am a proud sociopath. A killer who feels no remorse for the lives I take. These facts, however, do not condemn me to evil. The truth is, sociopaths rule this planet. The rest of the world, however, refuses to see this. They blind themselves from reality as is often the way of humanity. Instead of embracing the ruthless nature of ruling society, they offer peace prizes to politicians whose hands are stained with the blood of their own countrymen in times of war. For you see, without the sacrifice of war, they could never hope to instill change. We understand this, you and I. We know that unless we exterminate the parasites, we will be caught in an endless circle, fighting the same battles over and over, all the while costing the lives of our loved ones. Our fathers, mothers, daughters... and sons." Ra's reaches behind his waist and detaches a pair of straight edged katana from his belt. They are hand wrapped with a red colored material and are light weighted with medium length blades. "Join me, and together we will accomplish what _**he**_ is too afraid to truly pursue." He extends the weapons to Jason as an offering of acceptance. "Justice."

Jason remains silent, seemingly unfazed from the words offered by the king of killers. After a moment, he snatches the swords out of Ra's' hand and walks away.

"I'm keeping my guns."

_**Wayne Manor,**_

_**Batcave**_

"Hey, Barb," he greets as he enters the cave. "Oh jeeze, he's still here?"

"Yep, hasn't left at all since last night… You should talk to him," she suggests.

"Come on, Dick. He won't listen to me anymore; you need to at least try."

"Alright, fine…" says Dick with a sigh as he makes his way down to the forensics room. "Timmy?" he calls as he enters the lab. "Tim. Hey, man, you look like you could use some shut eye, kid."

"Not now, Dick," responds the young detective, still wearing his Red Robin uniform.

"Hey, it's Richard to you now. After you insulted me last week, I can't trust you to call me Dick anymore…" claims the blue wing of the night.

"First of all, I was joking, and second, I'm trying to prove something here, so do you mind?"

"Actually, I do mind. Babs says you've been in here all night and haven't said a word about-"

"Ra's Al Ghul is in Gotham, Dick," interrupts Tim.

"It's Richard, and what are you talking about?"

"This batarang was found at the crime scene before Scarecrow was sent to the hospital. Just before he was murdered, Gordon told me that the blades found in his shoulder were Japanese style with Arabic qualities in their design. The only person who could recreate a batarang to be lethal and smith weapons using both Japanese and Arabic craftsmanship is-"

"Look, Tim," interjects Dick, "I know what you saw last night was bad. Hell, it would make me want to catch the guy who did it too, but we can't jump to conclusions like that right awa-"

"Stop! I'm not jumping to conclusions! See, I knew you would do this! That's why I need all of the evidence I can, because otherwise you wouldn't believe me," shouts the previous sidekick.

"Whoa now, take it easy, alright? I'm not saying I don't believe you. This definitely has League of Assassins written all over it, but that doesn't mean that Ra's himself is in Gotham," retorts the first boy wonder.

"Listen, Dick,"

"Richard…"

"Whatever! I'm telling you he's here! I know Ra's better than anyone and I need you to trust me!" screams Tim in frustration.

"I do trust you!" shouts Dick in retaliation. "All I'm saying is that if you know Ra's so well, then you know that this isn't his style. Since when is he the one getting his hands dirty?"

"Di… Richard. Someone is posing as Bruce and is murdering criminals. You said it yourself; this is definitely League of Assassins, right? Now if Ra's wanted someone to pose as Batman, do you really think that with his arrogance, he'd let some lacky do it?"

"I don't know," says Dick. "I'm just saying that we should keep an open mind about it, fair enough?"

"Fine. Oh and Di… Richard. There was someone else on the scene that night. Apparently the little girl that was saved said Batgirl was the one who set her free," states Tim.

"And you think it's Talia…" affirms Dick with a sigh. "Damn it, Tim. I hope you're wrong about this. But whatever the case, just don't tell Damian anything right now. The kid has been making a lot of progress and we don't need him being drawn back into that world."

"Master Richard?" says the voice over the intercom.

"What's up, Alfred?"

"Master Damian has gone out on patrol."

"Did he say where?" asks Richard.

"No, sir. In fact, he advised me not to tell you, which alerted me that I should inform you straight away," responds Alfred.

"You think he knows?" inquires Tim.

"No, but he's about to find out…"


	6. Painting like a Predator

**_The League of Bats_**

**Chapter 6:**

**Painting like a Predator**

**_Bludhaven,_**

**_30 miles beneath "The Wall"_**

"Master Ra's, your guest, young Jason Todd, has arrived," informs the humble servant, entering the dojo alongside the youthful vigilante.

"Ah yes, right on schedule," remarks the immortal king. He is donning hakama like garb upon his legs with a bare torso, wrapping his hands with white tape. "Thank you, Ubu. That will be all."

The loyal subject lowers his head and exits the room.

"Bludhaven, huh? Why not Gotham? Seems like you would want to operate from inside the place you're working so hard to change," inquires Jason as he scans the abode. The walls are decorated with weaponry from every time period, particularly swords.

"It would seem that way to most, which is one reason why I elected to conduct myself elsewhere," answers Ra's as he removes a wooden bokken from the weapon rack before him, testing its weight and assuring the wood hasn't warped.

"One reason?" query's the Red Hood as he steps forward onto the training mat. What are the oth-"

"One more step without removing your boots," interrupts the Demon Head, "and you will be crawling your way back to Gotham," he warns while pointing his bokken at the young crime fighter.

Jason halts, taking a moment to note the sternness in the master assassin's eyes.

"Your house," states the outlaw as he withdraws his step, "your rules."

"You learn quickly," says Ra's as he lowers his weapon. "Let us hope that trait remains throughout your training."

"Training? Uh, I appreciate the offer, but-"

"It is not an offer," Ra's states. "Now remove your footwear and join me, there is no time to waste."

Jason sigh's as he removes his jacket and boots along with his helmet.

"Seriously, I don't think I need-"

"Choose a weapon," interjects the ancient warrior.

Shaking his head in dissatisfaction, the former boy wonder grabs a bokken from the rack beside him and accompanies Ra's in the sparring ring.

"Look, I've already been trained by the best assassin's there are. Hell, I've even killed some of them. Talia-"

"The best there are?" exclaims the sword master with a slight chuckle under his breath. "Tell me, boy, were any of these supposed _masters_ my daughter sent you to battle tested with over six centuries worth of combat and war?"

"I know how to use a sword…" states the angered criminal with distain in his voice.

"Oh I see, you fancy yourself a swordsman then?" says Ra's in a mocking tone. "Well please; enlighten me with your undoubtedly vast skills."

After gripping the wooden club in his hand tightly with anger, Jason begins to spin the sword in his hand, performing a kata, showing off the undeniable control and comfort he has with a blade. Smiling at the young ward, Ra's strikes the bokken firmly, knocking it from Jason's grip before swatting him on the side of his chin with his weapon. With a grunt of pain, the wounded vigilante falls to one knee cradling his jaw.

"You know how to use a sword, do you?" challenges the combative genius as he circles the fallen outlaw. "Tell me, if a child knows how to use clay, does that then qualify him as a sculptor?" he inquires as Jason spits blood onto the mat. "Your kata, as entertaining as it may be to a novice, would lead only to your demise in battle," explains the patron of war as Red Hood retrieves his sword and pulls himself up from the ground. "As an extension of your reach, the blade must remain fixed and strong in your hands, as if it were an extra limb. When you loosen your grip too much, your joint becomes weak, making it easier for your enemy to effectively remove your limb."

Jason turns and swings his weapon horizontally at Ra's' head with rage. The clever swordsman ducks the blow and jabs the tip of his bokken into the ribs of the enraged youth. As Jason grimaces in both pain and shock, the Demon Head alters his footing, spinning his body and once again strikes his student in the jaw, sending him to the floor.

"Your body is too stiff," claims the expert of combat. "When a painter holds a brush, his arm must be relaxed. This helps to keep flow of his art, keeping the strokes organic and natural," he explains as the Red Hood uses his weapon as a crutch to lift himself from the mat. "A swordsman must also keep his strokes fluid. Am I correct to assume that you regret removing your helmet?" mocks Ra's.

Jason shouts in rage as he thrusts his weapon towards the master of murder. The king of killers parry's the attack and strikes the furious disciple across the back. Grunting in anguish, Jason continues his assault, swinging his sword diagonally at the immortal warrior. Ra's effectively dodges the attack and counters with a vertical strike that is blocked by Red Hood. Rotating his hips and dipping the tip of his bokken with a continuous flow, Ra's disarms Jason once again. As his weapon soars across the room, Jason takes another blow to the face from his merciless opponent and falls to the floor, beaten.

"Better," remarks the Demon Head, "but still quite inept. Keep in mind the true purpose of the weapon you hold in your hands. Like your beloved firearms, a sword is a weapon meant to kill, not defend. As I had stated previously, you _must_ remain fluid, when both advancing your attack and receiving your opponents response. Blocking in a with a blade leaves you rigid and vulnerable. When in war, there is no pause, no cease of action. To disrupt your flow in battle is to arrive in an early grave."

Sitting up with his palm to his jaw, Jason releases a frustrated breath, accepting his defeat.

"So," states the injured youth, grimacing at his apparent broken jaw, "how do you know what to do next if you can't even stop to think?"

"Excellent question," remarks Ra's with a smile as he assists Jason to his feet. "When Michelangelo sculpted the La Pieta during the Renaissance, he claimed to have visualized the sculpture before even grasping the chisel. Remember that swordsmanship is an art form. A _deadly _art, as some may say." Ra's grabs Jason by the shoulder and stares deep into his eyes. "Study your opponent; visualize his death at your hands. Imagine the how soft his tissue will seem as your blade pierces his skin, the hardened texture of his frame as you cut through his bones. Picture the blood dripping from your blade as his pupils rolling to the back of his skull while the life drains from his body. Once you can learn to identify _precisely_ what you wish to accomplish, the means achieving your goal becomes as natural as taking in air. There is no doubt that you are a killer, my young ward, and a successful one, at that. But to become an assassin, to truly master the _art_ of murder, you must first embrace the beauty of death."

"And you think you can open my eyes to that revelation?" asks Jason.

"The Lazarus Pit has already done that for you, child," explains Ra's. "I need only to refine your gaze." The psychotic dealer of death places his weapon on the rack in which it belongs and turns to face the exit. "For now you need rest. I'll have Ubu attend to your injuries," assures the Demon Head as he takes his leave.

"So what do you see?" asks Jason as he rotates his aching shoulders.

"Excuse me?" retorts Ra's, halting his exit.

"Well, you said that you can see the outcome of every battle, right? So how does this all end for you?" inquires the wounded outlaw.

"For me…" Ra's murmurs, "there _is_ no end."


	7. A Bird Between Bats

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 7:**

**A Bird Between Bats  
**

Perched atop the roof of "La Piazza" restaurant overlooking the Iceberg Lounge, Talia Al Ghul rests patiently. The dust beside her shifts in the breeze, yet the air remains still. The moon shines bright in the east on this early night, yet no shadows are cast and the ground to her right. As her eyes face north, she turns her head to the west with a smirk on her lips.

"There are few on the planet who can sneak up on me," she states.

"I've been taught well," replies the childlike voice behind her.

"In many respects, you have. Unfortunately, the fields in which you lack proper instruction may lead to your untimely demise," warns the maiden of murder.

"Is that why you're here, mother? To kill me? To end my life while wearing father's symbol? Is that how you wish to punish him?" challenges the troubled youth with an aggravated tone.

"No, Damian," answers Talia calmly.

"Then why? What business do you have showing your face here?!" demands the adolescent crime fighter.

"I am here to save you!" responds the damsel of death as she clenches her teeth. "Do you not understand how you've been brainwashed? You and your father pretend to save this city while more and more die by the hands of the same criminals you claim to protect them from!"

"We _do_ save lives! There are thousands who still walk the streets because of him!"

"Where there could be _millions_ if he was had the wherewithal to do what is necessary!" retorts the princess of plunder.

"What… what has happened to you?" asks Damian.

Talia's eyes widen, realizing her loss of control. Turning her back to her son, she calms her voice and hides her passion.

"This… this is the end, Damian," she states. "You have to come back to your grandfather and I."

"I can't…" whispers the disheartened descendant of the Demon with his eyes aimed at his feet.

"… If you don't," claims Talia with hesitation, "we'll come for you."

"And father?"

"…Yes," she assures with a nod.

"If that is your wish, mother," declares Damian, the tone of his voice remaining quiet.

"My wish? _**MY WISH?!**_ Do you understand what I'm telling you?!" shouts the Demon's daughter as she inverts her stance in outrage, bringing herself nose to nose with her son. "If you don't come with me right now you will _die_! He'll make me-!" Talia lowers her head, fighting the tears. Composing herself, she lifts her chin, staring into her cub's eyes with glassy brown pupils through a bat shaped mask. "Please, Damian… I… I won't be able to stop him this time. If you love me, if you love your father, you'll come with me right now and never look back."

Refusing to look at his mother's face, Damian lets out a sigh as he gently collapses his eyelids.

"When I first heard that you might be here, I didn't know what to think. All I knew was that I had to find you. I searched for hours, climbing to the highest points of the city so I couldn't miss a thing. Then I saw a woman, gliding through the air like a bat. It took me a moment to realize it was you, but there was no mistaking it. You were here, wearing father's symbol as if it were your own. It gave me hope. I thought that maybe you had come to a realization. That maybe you had given up your ruthless ambitions and wanted to make a life here with me and father. I knew it was far fetched, but it was… nice to think about, even for a moment. What I didn't count on, was that you would be worse than ever. You speak of father as if he were a fool. As if the man you once called your beloved was some kind of blind simpleton with no concept of reality. The truth is that _you_ are the one who's blind. You and grandfather believe that killing criminals will rid the world of evil, but the reality of it all is that you _can't_ rid the world of evil that way. Even if you kill them all, in the end, _you two_ are still left. I made a promise to father that I would always protect the world from evil and now I make the same promise to you, mother. As long as you and grandfather continue this campaign of misery and murder," conveys Damian as he lifts his eyes to his mother's gaze, "I will _always_ be here to stop you."

Turning her head in blunder, the broken hearted bearer of the boy wonder squeezes her eyes shut as a tear streams from her cheek. She stands upright and wipes the tear from her face with a sniffle.

"Go, then. Savor your final moments with your _family_…" commands Talia with a quiver in her voice.

"Mother, I-"

With a quick draw of her sword, the queen of carnage impedes Damian's statement, pointing the tip of her sword between his eyes.

"I am no longer your mother, nor are you my son," asserts Talia, her words dripping with distain. "Remember this blade, for the next time you see it, it will be dripping in your blood… just before I plunge it deep into your father's heart," she states with a cold demeanor.

"I… understand," mumbles the young Robin as he turns, facing the edge of the roof. "I hope it won't be too shocking when the blood tasted by your blade is familiar to your own… Talia," states the boy wonder as he leaps from his perch.

As the murderous mistress lowers her arm, she gazes over the city after her son's departure. She raises the blade to her face, looking at her reflection in the cold steel of her saber. With a quiet voice, her whisper muffled from the wind, a single word escapes her lips. "Talia…"

_**Wayne Manor,**_

_**Batcave**_

"Oh no…" she says as the glare of the screen reflects in her glasses. "Guys... Tim? Dick? GUYS!?"

"Babs? What's going on?" asks Red Robin.

"Look…"

Tim's eyes widen as he reads the report claiming that renowned gangster Black Mask has been murdered.

"Oh god, no…"

Arriving after a patrol the city in search for Damian, Dick Grayson parks his bike at the cave entrance. Sporting a leather jacket and removing his helmet, he hurries to the monitor alongside his confidants.

"No sign of him," he states before taking a clear look at the monitor. "What the hell…"

The report claims that Red Hood was believed to be behind the murders, but a pair if batarangs one of which was found embedded into Black Masks cranium, leads authorities to place the recently accused Batman at the scene.

"He did it again!" shouts Tim as he slams his fist into the controls before turning away and rubbing his forehead.

"I don't get it," says Barbara, "my father would've-"

"Your father can't do squat," interrupts Dick.

"What do you mean?" the confused tech genius wonders.

"It means that he isn't going to tell us _anything _as long as the GCPD thinks Red Robin and Batman are murderers," confirms the third red bird sternly. "He's cutting off all of our connections. Now he can do whatever he wants and we won't find out until it hits the papers. He could've killed even more victims for all we know and there's literally nothing for us to go on!" asserts the frustrated detective.

"He didn't cut us off yet… Barbara, can you hack into the GCPD network and pull up those case files?" asks the blue wing of the night as he removes his leather jacket.

"Sure, but unless I get have a tangible sample we're not going to be able to accurately analyze any fingerprints or DNA," she retorts.

"Tim, is there anyway you could still get some samples from the scene as it is now?"

"It's been almost two days. I could probably figure out a few things, but either way we're going to need the batarangs to have any hope of figuring out how everything went down," claims Red Robin.

"Alright then, let's get to business. Babs, pull up what you can on the case. I want witness statements, police reports, anything that they have documented about who and what was in the area at the time of the incident. Tim, get the rubber gloves ready. I've got a phone call to make..."


	8. In Fearful Day

**_The League of Bats_**

**Chapter 8:**

**In Fearful Day…**

**_Bludhaven,_**

**_30 miles beneath "The Wall",_**

**_Noon_**

****The lair is quiet at noon. This time is taken for the occupants to rest, preparing for the night's demands.

Talia arrives through the main elevator, returning from her overnight mission in Gotham. Entering her personal quarters, she removes her cowl and makes her way to the lavatory. She soaks her face in lukewarm water, hoping to clear her head of the heated exchange between her estranged son, Damian, and herself the previous evening. As she lifts her head from the heated tub, the disgruntled killer gazes into the mirror, noticing the familiar presence behind her.

"Is there something you need?" she asks with an agitated tone, continuing to massage her face with the pleasantly mild liquid.

"Long night?" asks the young man as he enters the quarters.

"And day," responds Talia before turning about-face. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to leave… I'd like some privacy," demands the princess of pain as she dries her moistened cheeks.

"Taila, why are you doing this?"

"I said to leave, Jason…"

"Your pops broke my damn jaw while you were gone last night," explains the wounded youth, pointing to his bandaged chin. "Now look, I know your father was never someone to take lightly, but I mean… I can give Bruce a run for his money. When faced Ra's, I couldn't even _think_ fast enough before he had me on the floor."

"What are you telling me this for? I already know what my father is capable of."

"What I'm _asking_ is; why the hell are you helping this guy go after Bruce? If Ra's goes through with whatever he has planned, there's no way Bruce is getting out of it in one piece. And there's not a damn thing you or me can do to stop him once that happens," claims Jason.

In a heated display, the Demon's daughter grabs Jason by his lapel.

"Don't you get it?! He has to die!" she shouts with rage in her voice. "I have waited for _years, _tried _everything_ to get him to see, but he's too goddamn thick-headed to see what's right!" shouts the mad mistress, shoving the former boy wonder backward. Turning toward the mirror, Talia stares into her reflection. "I called him my beloved… begged for his hand in marriage… I even gave him a child and that _still_ wasn't enough," she claims with a deep tone before retiring her eyes from her own image. "My father and I offered him the world and more, yet he still defied us. Even_ I_ defied my father's wishes because of my feelings for him." Talia returns her gaze to the mirror, glaring into her own eyes. "But no more…"

"Talia, I…" whispers the anti-hero, attempting to touch her shoulder before declining at the last moment.

"Is there anything else you wanted to _discuss_?" asks the maiden of mayhem with a tone of discontent.

After a moment, Jason shrugs before leaning up against the wall with his arms folded.

"Why Bludhaven?" he asks.

"What?" responds Talia, shaking her head in annoyance.

"Before your _gentleman_ of a father broke my jaw, he dodged my question when I asked why he was stationed here in Bludhaven," explains the notorious outlaw.

"He probably didn't think it was important for you to know right now," says the queen of assassins.

"Regardless, I know you take pride in showing off intelligence," says Jason.

"Just as you take pride in knowing the habits of others," replies Talia with a smirk. "Very well. As you know, Bludhaven is neighbor to the Gaza Strip. When The Wall was built, it ceased any transportation between the two borders. With this bunker along with a tunnel planted thirty miles under the ground, we should be able to move back and forth between here and the Middle East without detection."

"Whoa, wait a second… did you say thirteen or thirty?" asks the Red Hood, raising his eyebrow.

"Thirty. Three, zero," responds the damsel of destruction.

"Damn, I knew it was hot in here…" mocks Jason.

"Clever. The walls are reinforced with a special type of Tungsten material that is bonded with a cryogenic liquid able to withdraw temperatures up to three thousand degrees. Keeps the heat out and allows the oxygen from the surface to funnel down," explains Talia as she crosses her arms.

"Impressive. Sounds like something you borrowed from Mr. Freeze," observes Jason.

"Close. We stole it from him."

Jason snaps his finger with a nod of his head.

"You see, after The Outsiders apprehended him, all of Victor Fries' belongings were apprehended by the government. Lex Luthor, being President, immediately forwarded all research and technology to Lex Corps, my former workplace, for further study. With the little tug and pull I still have there, I managed to acquire what I needed to build this-"

"This marvel of a lair," shouts a voice from outside of the dorm.

"Father?" responds Talia, rushing passed Jason who then follows her out.

"Talia, my dear, don't encourage the boy with conversation when his current state clearly inhibits lengthy dialogue," says the former Demon King, glancing at his newly anointed young ward.

"That's what I get for playtime with Pops…" mumbles Jason as he rolls his eyes.

Ra's smirks slightly at Jason's comment before returning his attention back to Talia.

"Have you mapped out the coordinates, darling?" asks the master assassin.

"I did, father. I have already relayed them to Ubu so he may download them into the system," replies the devious dame.

"Excellent," says Ra's, placing his hand on her shoulder before turning to take his leave.

"Just a few more things, father," reveals the beautiful butcher, disrupting her father's leave. "I have noted that there are a total of twelve men, not including the target, which we will need to eliminate. The main entrance is watched over at all times by two men outside. The front doors lead into a hallway heading toward the dance floor, at the end of which there are two more guards overlooking the cliental. There is then, of course, the bartender who serves the beverages from a counter that is directly opposite the entrance. The second floor is guarded by two men placed at front of the staircases, another at the V.I.P entrance, plus another bar tender. All of bouncers are armed with double action .45 semi automatic pistols on the right side of their belt buckles while the bartenders conceal M4 shotguns behind the counters. The target himself arrives with a clan of five men at eleven o'clock and heads to his office on the third floor immediately after greeting his most affluent guests in the V.I.P section, where he remains until four a.m. During said time, he keeps his umbrella, which I discerned to have a hidden trigger just before the arch of the handle, in the bottom drawer to his right."

"Impressive observations…" remarks the painter of pain, observing his daughter's demeanor.

"Thank you, father. I want nothing more than for this mission to go smoothly, especially when Jason will be accounting for his injur-"

"Who did you talk to, Talia?" asks Ra's with a stern glare deep into Talia's eyes.

"Well, I… what do you mean?"

"I mean, _who _crossed your path last night while you were in Gotham… and you would be wise not to answer my question with another question this time," warns the dealer of death.

After a moment of pause, the Demon's daughter lowers her head with no choice but to confess.

"Damian… my son," she mumbles in a low voice.

"I see. And what exchanges took place in this _heart warming_ reunion of mother and child?" inquires Ra's.

"He… he's lost to us, father," admits the mortified mother with a crack in her voice. "Bruce has him believing everything. My own child told me that I am evil and promised that he would spend his life defying me," she quivers before breaking into a sob. "I hate him… I hate him for what he did to my family. Why couldn't he just love me? Why couldn't he just be happy with what I was willing to give him? Now he turned my own flesh and blood against me…" Talia glances up at her father with angered eyes full of moisture. "I'm sorry that I've ever defied you father. You were right about him. You were always right… I just wish it didn't take my own son's betrayal to finally make me see… We have to kill them. _All_ of them," exclaims the costumed queen of cutthroats before sobbing once more.

"Oh, my dear Talia," states Ra's in a comforting tone, wrapping his arms around his devastated daughter. "I know you have been through so much, my sweet. I never wished this for you. I too, had hoped they would see. That The Detective would understand what is truly just. But, as you said, they will never allow us to succeed." The conscious killer rubs the back of his kin, cradling her head to his chest as she pours her sorrow into her father's embrace. "Perhaps, however," he suggests with a crawling inflection, "you can take solace in knowing that through taking the life of your child, you spare me the pain of having to take the life of mine."

Talia immediately ceases her mourning and slowly removes herself from the sudden solemnity of her father's clutch while Jason looks on in shock at the king of killer's remark.

With a final glaring smile, Ra's Al Ghul finally turns to take his leave.

"Oh and one more thing, my love," mentions the menacing monarch.

"Y-yes, father?" replies Talia, wiping the moisture from her eyes.

"When the boy found you, did he observe you scouting the Iceberg Lounge?"

"He did," responds the exterminator's offspring.

"I see. Rest up, both of you. We're leaving early…"


	9. In Raging Night

**_The League of Bats_**

**Chapter 9:**

**…****In Raging Night…**

**_Gotham City,_**

**_3 Miles North of Crime Alley,_**

**_11:30 p.m._**

The late hour of the p.m. is an early night for Gotham. Towns roar with luminous streets and dazzling lights, giving the vibrant city an undeniable life of its own. In the somber stretch surrounding Crime Alley, however, the light that gives Gotham its life seems to squander. The horrors that exist in the shadows of these slums can swallow even the most prominent of people, as proven through the death of notorious gangster Black Mask just a short time ago. It is on the rooftop where this villain met his end that the young prodigies of the Bat await the arrival of an assumed ally, whom they are hoping can help them discover exactly who or what is behind the blemish placed upon their family's legacy.

"She told us to be here early and meanwhile she's _still_ late…" argues the young crime fighter.

"Relax double R-seven, it's not like we're asking her to do something she's accustomed to. I mean, what would she ever have to break into a police station for?"

"Oh, lots of _hurrrrr'_reasons," announces the sensual swindler in a seductive tone as she perches herself along the rooftop's peak.

"About time," remarks Tim as he makes his way toward the titillating thief. "Did you get the files or not?"

"_Hmph_, guess the Batman taught you everything except how to treat a lady," claims the ravishing robber with a snarl, revealing the documents in her possession.

"Wrong," explains the teenage avenger. "He taught me how to treat everyone," he claims, snatching the folders from her grip. "Especially criminals."

"That's ironic coming from one the most wanted masks in Gotham," states the erotic embezzler with a sense of scorn, lowering from the ledge onto the concrete rooftop.

The captivating cougar receives a glare from the former sidekick before being approached by his predecessor.

"Sorry, you'll have to forgive Sherlock Holmes over there" expresses the blue knight of Gotham. "Things have been… the stress level back at the cave has been at code red for a few days. I really appreciate you taking the risk and helping us out, Catwoman."

"Well, word on the street is that someone is taking out the criminal underground in the city. That '_someone_', being Batman…" replies the flirtatious feline. "I knew it was too harsh to be him, but I also know that whoever_ is_ behind this is eventually going to be gunning after me too. Besides, it's hard to say no to you, blue bird," she implies, purring softly with a wink.

"Heh, good to know," he responds, showing slight discomfort.

"So, do those files have everything you need, _Rude_ Robin?" mocks Catwoman, walking passed Nighwing as she drags her finger lightly across his chest.

The promiscuous pickpocket's concerns remain unanswered as the youthful detective focuses on the task at hand.

"I guess birdies don't hear that well. I said, do tho-"

"Easy there, kitty cat. He's in Columbo mode," interrupts the vigilante daredevil.

Motionless in the middle of the rooftop, Red Robin scrupulously studies his surroundings; constantly referencing the photographs in the report he received from Selina. He notices that the ridges of the rooftop are charred with black streaks pushing outward along the edges of the burns, meaning the damage came from a concussive blast. There is also a subtle stamping on the outer ledge just above the window to Jason Todd's former dwelling. The deductive prodigy determines the defect was delivered by a dense rope or cord, ascending an object of ample weight to the top of the roof. With the amount of casings the report claims came from the signature handcrafted arsenal of Red Hood, along with the amount of deceased accounted for on the rooftop, it is clear that the majority of the victims were slain by none other than the red helmed outlaw himself. What proves startling however is the death of Black Mask himself, along with one other follower whose deaths have been attributed to Gotham's savior, the Batman. Judging from the photographs providing the position of the corpses in relation to the angle's and depth at which the batarangs appeared to have penetrated their targets, the perpetrator had to have slain his prey from afar. The boy genius aggressively closes the case file, confident in his interpretation of the massacre.

"Alright, here's what we've got," he explains. "According to the report, Black Mask and his crew made there way up here in pursuit of Red Hood after murdering the owner at the front counter with a single shot to the head. By the time they reached the room he was staying in, Hood had already figured out they were on his trail and made his way up to the roof. Jason then managed to snatch one of the goons out of his apartment, possibly with some kind of improvised noose, and held him hostage in order to buy some time for when he would be inevitably cornered by Black Mask's gang. The report claims the hostage was then killed by a bullet from Black Mask's pistol, after which Red Hood went to plan B, igniting the outer edges of the rooftop with his homemade explosives and got to doing what he does best."

"So you're saying that all the evidence points to _Angry Red Riding Hood_," assumes Selina.

"Not finished. At some point during a struggle with one of the thugs, Black Mask gained the upper hand. During that time, a batarang, similar to the one that Gordon had presented me with just before Scarecrow was murdered, penetrated the right side of Black Mask's skull at an extremely high velocity. Considering the angle that the blade had entered his cranium, along with the placement of the second batarang that landed after slicing the throat of Black Mask's already downed accomplice, I've calculated that the perpetrator was no less than two hundred yards away in that direction," explains Tim, pointing toward the general area in which he referred. "With the wind force at an altitude this high, I'd have to hypothesize that batarangs weighted at the edges like these, curving inward after being tossed from that far away, would have picked up a flight speed of around seventy to seventy five miles per hour before reaching their destination. The kind of accuracy needed to throw something and hit a target at that velocity from that distance with all of the variables… whoever this is that we're dealing with is dangerous. _Extremely_ dangerous."

"That trait tends to run in my family," states a childlike voice, drawing the attention of the group.

"Robin? Robin!" shouts Dick as he runs to the boy, crouching down to his level and inspecting him for injuries. "Are you okay? Where did you go?"

"I had a talk… with my mother."

"Your… your mother?" questions Nightwing in a whispering tone.

"Yes, she and my grandfather are here in Gotham together dressing in batsuits. They're the ones behind the murders. She said… she said it was my last chance to join her and that by siding with my father, I sealed my fate by her hand… in choosing my father, I'm already dead in her eyes," explains the young ward.

Nightwing's eyes widen as Tim and Selina remain in silent sorrow for the ten year old hero. Glancing down at the child's clenched fists; Dick can see the slight twitches of pain running up Damian's arm from his worn knuckles.

"Let me see," demands the original boy wonder, sternly.

"I didn't hurt anyone…" responds the son of the Bat as he presents his former partner with his injured hands.

"Except yourself?" asks Nightwing.

Damian refuses to reply, turning his head in shame with a hint of despair in his gaze.

"I think it's time you came home," Dick proclaims softly, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder.

The costumed sidekick remains silent, nodding to his comrade's advice.

"Tim, how much time do you need?" asks the blue bird of the night as he returns standing.

"Plenty. Thanks to Robin, we know who's behind it, but we still have no idea where they are or who their next target might be. Not to mention the report says one of Jay's pistols was obtained from the scene with a spike clogging the barrel, so there was some kind of scuffle between him and Talia, or possibly even Ra's himself, but there's no sign of what happened afterwards. I can't even say if he's alive or not."

"Fine, you stay here and find whatever else you can. I'm taking him back to the cave," affirms the adept acrobat, referring to his prior sidekick. "If you need at any point, just contact me. Same goes for you, Catwoman," states Dick.

"Nuh uh, pretty bird. I'm the one that the boys get to call, not the other way around." Selina blows a kiss before diving off the roof, disappearing into the dark city streets.

"My father has a strange taste in women…" says Damian.

"Very…" agrees Dick. "C'mon kid, you had a long night," he says with a nudge.

"-_TT_- So does everyone who visits the Iceberg Lounge," replies the boy wonder, sarcastically.

"Wait… what did you just say?" asks Red Robin.

"The Iceberg Lounge. That's where my mother stationed herself before I confronted her," states Damian.

"Oh no…"

"What is it, Red?" asks Nightwing, concernedly.

"We have to move, **_now_**!"


	10. Beware the Judgment of the Dark Knight

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 10:**

…**Beware the Judgement of the Dark Knight**

_**Gotham City,**_

_**The Iceberg Lounge,**_

_**11:30 p.m.**_

It is a Friday night at the Iceberg Lounge. Music is booming for blocks to hear. The hour before midnight is the time in which the most frequent attendees will begin to arrive, hoping to celebrate the start of the coming weekend well into the a.m. At said hour is when Oswald Cobblebot, owner of the Iceberg Lounge and highly feared crime lord of Gotham City often referred to as _The Penguin,_ makes his arrival. The reason being so that he may greet the majority of his guests, flaunting his status before isolating himself in his chamber at the top floor of the establishment, where the deformed gangster may enjoy the flow of revenue that comes his way throughout the night. It has been a half an hour since Cobblepot made his appearance and has since settled into his quarters safely, surrounded by the protection of his hired muscle, completely oblivious of the forces submerged in shadows that plot his demise.

The bouncer at the main entrance inspects the guests, confiscating any illegal weaponry or unwarranted drugs before his co-worker opens the main door, welcoming those he approves. The heavyweight henchman is soon approached by three individuals sporting abnormal apparel. The forerunner of the trio displayed atypical attire of the Dark Knight, accompanied by a woman with a similarly altered ensemble of Batgirl and a young man who precisely portrayed the Red Hood, with the exception of what appeared to be duel sabers connected to the back of his coat.

"Whoa, hold up '_Batman_'" states the burly bouncer with a modest giggle, halting the grimly dressed gang. "I'm diggin' the costumes. Swords are a nice touch, not a fan of the colored eyes, though," he criticizes. "Uh… look, the boss ain't exactly a fan of guys in masks, especially that kind. Y'all gonna hafta lose the getups if you want me to let ya in here tonight."

"I completely understand, my good man," replies the costumed character, cordially. "That's why _he's_ going to let me in," states the proper patron, gesturing to the young man by his side.

The cryptic companion pulls a silenced pistol from his belt, placing a bullet into the bouncer's cranium before firing two more into the chest cavity of his colleague at the door before he can comprehend the killing of his comrade. Horror disperses through the bystanders waiting in line, dissipating them in a sheer panic.

"Go," the cruel connoisseur of chaos instructs.

His accomplices fluently fire a pair of grapples, propelling themselves upward, shifting into the shadows. Making his way into the boisterous building, the blade wielding baron walks passed the two guards overlooking the dance floor and strolls briskly toward the bartender. The bouncers find it suspicious that a person dressed in such an odd and alarming ensemble was able to enter with the inspector's approval.

"Carl, what's the deal with this Bat-freak? Carl?"

Unable to receive an answer from their colleague outside, the guards begin to follow the unsettling intruder with their hands close to their sidearm. Now standing at the front of the counter, the bartender's attention cannot help but find its way to this fascinating figure.

"Look out, it's Batman! Ha, cool costume, buddy. Glad to see the doorman lightened up a bit on that sort of thing. Anyway, what can I get ya, _oh dreadful Dark Knight_?" jests the light hearted attendant.

"A _**Bloody**_ Mary…"

With a single draw of his sword, the admiral of assassins cuts the unsuspecting server down the middle of his skull, splitting the victim's upper torso in half until lodging the blade deep into his solar plexus. As an eruption of blood envelops the patrons nearby, they begin to cower in terror. Their cries can hardly be heard over the beat blasting from the amplifiers around the area. The two henchmen observing the death dealer drew their firearms, causing the customers to crouch low and avoid the incoming assault. Before their fingers could find the trigger, the masterful murderer discharges a batarang from his wrist, launching it with flawless accuracy into the farthest shooter's skull. In an effort to save his own life, the burdened bodyguard begins to open fire. In an instant, the demon of darkness draws his weapon from the corpse in which it lay and rushes his opponent, deflecting two rounds in the process. Sweating with fear and frustration, the bouncer releases a grimace of anxiety, knowing his eminent doom is but inches away. With a third parry, sparks jumping from the cold steel in his grip, the evil executioner pierces the throat of his prey, watching him wilt to the ground in agony. Swiping his sword to the side, he flicks the blood from his blade onto the fear stricken civilians crouched by his feet before placing his tool of termination in its sheath.

"The main floor is clear," announces the baleful butcher through the comm. system beneath his cowl. "Batgirl, commence the cleansing of level two."

"Copy," she replies before storming through the second story window.

With the patrons frozen in shock at her dramatic reveal, the majestic maiden slips a disc from her belt and tosses it through the air. Ejecting a serrated edge mid-flight, the deadly disc circles above the civilians' heads before striking the bartender, sawing through the top half of his skull before returning to its wielder's hand like a boomerang. The crowd scrambles, everyone trying to make their way to the flight of stairs leading to the first level as the two henchmen by the staircase draw their weapons. Slipping another disk into her opposite hand, the skilled sultana sends her devices of death soaring through the air before charging her enemies. As the subordinates open fire, the adept acrobat relies on her bewildering balance and dexterity, flipping and twisting through the air, effectively dodging the rapid gunfire as she follows her contraptions of catastrophe to their target. Bending inward toward the ill-fated wardens, the discs of doom cross paths and sever the shooters' hands. Just before the incapacitated invalids grasp the image of their missing limbs, the soulless sociopath snatches the weapons from the air and slices the throats of her victims. Opening the door to the V.I.P. lounge, the final enforcer on the second floor beholds the bloodshed by the hands of the beautiful baroness before him. Stricken with fear after observing the ominous glare of the opposing abomination, he runs up the stairs to the main office of the Penguin's sanctuary.

"Clear," affirms the barbarous bat.

Following her confirmation, the Red Hood leaps through the previously pulverized glass and observes the outcome of his accomplice's assignment.

"There's only three dead. Where's the fourth?" he asks the maiden of murder.

"Just follow the wisp in the wind," she responds before releasing the gruesome gadget from her grasp.

On the third story of the Iceberg Lounge, the Penguin enjoys a meal of filet mignon, sided with caramelized sweet potatoes and buttered biscuits. Piano music plays from the refurbished record player, unhindered by the booming tunes of the two floors below within the soundproof office. The five guards remain close at hand. Two are stationed at each end of the window, two more on either side of the door and the final remains within the Penguin's proximity to assure the safety of his leader. Coasting calmly into the wonderful flavor of his feast, Cobblepott's solace screeches to a halt when loud thumping on the outside his door reverberates around the room.

"Wha-? Marcus, go answer that," demands the deformed club owner. "And make sure whoever it is knows that if they interrupt my meal again, I'll be digging my fork into _his_ bloody filet!"

"Yes sir, Mr. Cobblepott," obeys the hefty henchman as he approaches the entrance to the office and opens the door. "Look buddy, Mr. Cobblepott doesn't want to be distur-"

Marcus is halted by the horrid view of the V.I.P. bouncer falling lifeless outside of the doorway, his throat speared by a serrated shuriken.

"Oh my- HALGH!"

Blood spills from his lips as a blade enters the shocked subordinate's esophagus. As the anguished aide slides from the crimson stained sword onto the ground, the recently recruited Red Hood reveals himself through the passageway. The newly anointed assassin breathes deeply, attempting to adequately assess the desired path to disposing of his enemies. While clearing his mind of all but the task at hand, the guards on either side of him free their firearms from the holsters and prepare to take aim. Before they can elevate their weapons, the disciple of the demon unsheathes his second sword, amputating the arms of the assailants by his sides. Continuing the carnage of his craft, the outlaw spins the blades in his grip before propelling them into the chests of the chairman's last defense. The panicked proprietor ducks beneath the desk, reaching into his drawer for his weaponized umbrella as the Red hood removes the revolvers from his belt and fires two rounds into the suffering servants beside him, silencing their shrieks of pain. Just as the violet vigilante sets the contorted criminal in his sights, Cobblepott takes aim at Red Hood with his handcrafted rifle.

"Drop it, Quasimodo. It's over," assures the stalemated slayer.

"You know, I hear you offed Black Mask," reveals the British baron. "Figured it was bound to happen to one of you at some point, but I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to come after me next. Do you realize who you're _**FUCKING**_ with?" he asserts. "You're in over your head, bo- SQUAA!"

Penguin drops his umbrella, pushing his chest forward. Confused at the grotesque gangster's actions, Jason hesitates to open fire. Suddenly, the blade of Ra's Al Ghul bursts through the bewildered Brit's chest cavity.

"Your vampirism of this city's wealth is at an end," states a shrewd voice as the evil exterminator emerges. "For too long have you manipulated the corrupt and flawed form of justice put forth by the so called protectors of the innocent," he murmurs, sliding the sword slowly through the tormented matriarch's ribcage.

Cobblepott groans in agony while clutching the blade as the keen edged steel cuts into his fingers, attempting to cease the sadistic sociopath from sawing deeper into his back.

"You think yourself to be God," accuses the demon of darkness, "invulnerable to the integrity of justice… and I am Satan, here to inform you that anyone who declares themselves divine can still _**bleed**_."

The bloodthirsty butcher twists the saber inside Penguin's torso before savagely searing through the side of the forsaken villain's frame in a single stroke, spilling the intestines of his prey onto the floor.

"I could've finished him," claims Jason.

"Evidently not, considering his blood is currently dripping from my blade," responds the ruthless slayer as he swipes his sword once again, cleansing the blood from its lustrous steel. "We will continue our dialogue at a later time. For now, we must go. This deed is done."

Grappling through the air at a rapid pace, the crime fighting cartel of Nightwing, Robin and Red Robin, rush to the rescue of the man who would normally oppose them. They are utterly unaware, however, of the barbaric atmosphere that awaits their attendance.

"Damn it…" mumbles Red Robin as he notices the window on the third story of the Iceberg Lounge has been broken outward.

The nimble hero swiftly swings through the sharpened shards of shattered glass where his fears of failure are fully manifested before him. With Nightwing and Robin entering the sickening scene behind him, the trio can do nothing but digest the dread of the monstrous murders at the hands of what could only be a demon incarnate. Sirens are heard from the streets as the police arrive at the club.

"If they see us leave, they'll brand us all as psychopaths…" warns Nightwing, hiding his gaze from the horror before him in an attempt to regain his composure.

"To stop this madness," responds the disgusted detective, "we may have to be…"


	11. The Artist Beneath the Assassin

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 11:**

**The Artist Beneath the Assassin**

_**Bludhaven,**_

_**30 miles beneath "The Wall",**_

_**11:00 a.m.**_

Following the successful assault of the Iceberg Lounge, the occupants inhabiting the hidden headquarters buried beneath "The Wall" of Bludhaven review the faults within their deadly form and tend to any injuries endured in the endeavor. The lair's dojo, however, echoes the melody of Talia Al Ghul's marksmanship, as the bewitching baroness attempts to further refine her fatal craft.

Arranging the training targets around the room, the enchanting empress takes position at the midpoint of the floor before blindfolding herself. Removing the specially crafted shurikens from her belt, the skilled sultana sends them soaring through the air. The wisps and whistles of the deadly disks contribute to a concord of homicidal harmony before precisely puncturing each target with ease.

"You're pretty good with those," compliments her comrade, entering the arena with chunks of apple between his teeth. His hair is disheveled, recently rising from an evening of deep slumber with his firearm still fastened to his waist.

"Thank you, Jason," responds the brilliant beauty, removing the cloth that obscures her optics. "You're pretty good at chewing."

"Hilarious…" says the rugged ruffian, chomping once more on his crunchy consumable. "I don't know what that cream is that Ubu gave me for my fracture, but it works like magic," he claims, cradling his alleviated jaw as he chews.

"Close. It's a concoction of herbal lotions incorporated with the waters of the Lazarus Pit," discloses the divine dame. "With the absorbing properties of the herbs combine with the rejuvenation factors of the Lazarus solutions, I was able to produce a rapid recovery cream."

"Now see, that confuses me," states the devious desperado, dislodging the lethal weapon from its destination, "you're always inventing and building crazy tech and chemicals that are decades ahead of modern science, meanwhile you'd still rather throw these metal boomerangs instead of just firing a gun."

Talia smiles at her youthful ally as she approaches him, retrieving her gadget from his grip.

"You see that target?" she asks, glancing at the object to which she alludes. "If you can't hit the bullseye, then you owe me a favor. Deal?"

"You just lost yourself a favor," jests the remarkable marksman as he draws is revolver, ready to aim.

"Uh, uh," interrupts the stunning sultana. "Shoot it from here," she petitions, positioning the perplexed pupil about-face, so that his back is opposite the object.

"You're joking, right? There isn't even anything for me to ricochet my bullet off of," explains Jason.

"So you forfeit, then?" asks the homicidal huntress with a hint of ridicule as she smirks.

"I tell you what. If you can hit the target facing this way with one of your fancy discs, you've got your favor," states the confident crime fighter, crossing his arms over his chest.

Talia stands beside her ally, uplifting the spherical shuriken, staring straight ahead. With a flick of her wrist, the iniquitous intellectual releases the gadget from her grip. The whimsical weapon whistles in the wind, spinning swiftly, slowing in speed before reversing its path and penetrating the bullseye behind the alluring assassin.

"Damn…" declares the disappointed deadeye by her side.

"Unlike my father, I don't stray away from sharp shooting. I do, however, see the flaw in most firearms," explains the elegant exterminator.

"Which is what, exactly?" enquires Red Hood.

"They're too fixed," responds Talia. "The barrel of a revolver is straight and rigid. There isn't any room for flexibility, meaning you must strike the object in the path of your sight," she describes, dislodging another disc from her belt. "When you release the button in the center of the plate, the serrated edge ejects and begins spinning. This inside piece spins in the opposite direction, varying in speed depending on how you throw it. With the countering gyrations of the inner and outer sections, you can better control the path of the projectile. With a little practice, or course," demonstrates the dazzling dame, tossing the torturous tool. The weapon whips around the back of Jason's head, shaving the bristles behind his neck before rebounding back to the baleful beauty.

"You win," declares the impressed outlaw, touching the tips of his trimmed hairs. "So, guess I owe you a favor, then. Lay it on me."

"Master Todd, Lord Ra's would like to see you in his study," interrupts the obedient Ubu.

"You'll have to find out later," hints the sultry slayer with a smile.

With a suspicious yet smirking glare at his confidant's comment, Jason exits the facility with Ubu as his escort.

"What does he want, anyway?" wonders the young ward, walking across the corridor.

"Lord Ra's requests your presence," states the steadfast servant. "I need not attain knowledge beyond that, nor do I seek it," he affirms as they arrive at their destination.

Ubu opens the door to the Demon Head's dwelling, shutting it behind the accompanying outlaw after he enters. Surrounded by a surplus of sculptures and paintings that seem to date back centuries, the fascinated gunslinger gawks at the gorgeous compositions while strolling further into the grand gallery.

"Peaceful, isn't it?" asks the echoing voice of the elder exterminator.

"Wha-?" mumbles the marveled marksman, snapping out of his astonished trance to the sight of Ra's Al Ghul. He observes the ominous obliterator illustrating a painting with oils at an easel, unable to see the piece in progress.

"The calming effect of artistic expression is one of the most satisfying of all the ecstasies, for you cannot help but appreciate what is possible depending on the effort of its architect," announces the ancient assassin, swiping his wooden brush gracefully onto the canvas.

"Uh, yea. It's really… did you want to see me about something?" stutters Jason, scratching the top of his skull.

"She's wonderful, is she not?" responds the ruthless killer.

"Who?"

"My daughter, Talia. She has truly found her way. You see it is important for an artist to know himself before he is able to master expression through visual means. Having a much more scientific approach to combat than I, not dissimilar to The Detective, my daughter may not appreciate my words to the extent I would hope you might having rebelled against your previous teachings. You see, it is of grave importance to understand that there is no single way to success, but that what it takes for_ you_ to succeed at any one discipline can be applied to another. As long as you understand this, and know who you are down to your core, you can achieve anything," explains the genocidal genius, switching to a much thinner brush for his painting. "Have you ever heard of Flamma?"

"That famous gladiator?" retorts Red Hood.

"Indeed," imparts the impressed king of killers. "Flamma was known for his savage strength and unyielding bravery. He had lost only four of thirty-four bouts and been awarded rudis each time, yet still chose to continue fighting in front of the roaring crowds of the Coliseum. I see much of him in you. Not so much physically, he was a bit overweight, you see, but that raging spirit he often exuded is shared between you both," claims the bloodthirsty baron. "You hesitated last night. Do you know why?"

"I… I-"

"Again, you hesitate? Fine, I will come to your rescue once more," insists the sovereign sociopath. "From the moment your training with The Detective began, you have been chained down, completely unable to utilize your emotions. You were being molded, unknowingly against your will, in the image he had imposed upon you. Dying your hair, sewing the symbol of his previous ward upon your breast_, _belittling you each time you crossed his sacred line of humility against the inhuman scum you couldn't help but despise. Even now, when met with the familiar faces of the foes you fought by his side, his stain upon your being is all the more prevalent. It is time for you to awaken the gladiator within, Jason Todd. Open the cage with which your predecessor sought to imprison your soul and reunite with the true spirit in your heart that yearns to see sunlight again." The brilliant butcher rotates the easel, revealing a realistic portrait of his young partner, donning the garb of a gladiator.

"Wow, that's… that's amazing," compliments the confounded cohort. "How long have you been working on that?"

"I started last night, when we returned from the mission," responds Ra's.

"Really? But it looks **exactly** like me. Did you have a picture of me or something for reference?" Jason wonders.

"There was no need. Are you so arrogant to believe that you are so you unique in your appearance after the billions who have come and gone? " inquires the talented terrorist with a minor chuckle. "Humanity often makes the mistake of relying too heavily on physical form when identifying and capturing the likeness of an individual." Rising to his feet with the completed illustration in his grasp, the Demon Head mounts his masterpiece among his incredible collection. "While I appreciate your kind words, I never considered myself a master of the visual arts. Having lived throughout the ages with so many crossing my path, it is not difficult for me to convert ones guise to a canvas. What I do find challenging, however, is capturing the soul of the being I wish to depict. Not until my introduction to the _deadly_ arts, was I able to achieve that goal. Tell me," requests the dealer of death as he turns toward his student, "when my sword slid through that putrid pig's chest, what did you see in his eyes?"

"I saw…"

"Ah, ah. _** Don't**_ hesitate," interrupts the intellectual overlord.

"… I saw a coward," reveals the violent vigilante.

"Is that all?" asks the emperor of elimination.

"No. He was worse than a coward. He was a vermin. The type of scum who would sell the souls of those most loyal to him before sacrificing anything of his own," declares the demon's new disciple. "He would probably let a robber rape his mother before giving up the monocle over his eye…"

"Precisely," assures the aristocrat. "Gotham is our canvas, our blades are our brushes and together we will paint the portraits of the unjust in blood." The matriarch of murder places his hand upon the shoulder of his comrade. "I want you to join me on this journey, Jason. But first, I need you to be free. Unleash yourself from the shackles of your previous life and baptize your body in the bloody glory of a gladiator."

The red helmed outlaw stares at the stunning depiction before him, heeding the words of his elder.

"I will," he firmly declares.

"Said without hesitation," praises the king of killers with a scheming smirk.


	12. Diabolic Deduction

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 12:**

**Diabolic Deduction**

_**Gotham City,**_

_**Batcave,**_

_**2:00 p.m.**_

The sons and daughters of the Dark Knight have a common bond in that each of them had perceived the pain of a prodigious loss. A primary principle passed on by their forerunner, is that there must never be a moment wasted in woe, at least until the enemy's endeavors are ceased. The stillness of sorrow, however, is a troublesome tone to tear. Even with the concentrating cub of Gotham's commissioner clacking the keys of the Bat-Computer accompanied by the boy who bears the blood of the Bat bashing a bo-staff upon a wooden mannequin, there is still a solemn sense of silence throughout the cave.

"Damian?" addresses Oracle. "Could you turn on the television? I want to listen to the news."

The bitter boy wonder continues to drive his rod into the dummy as if ally was nonexistent.

"…Please?" she insists.

Without halting his attempt to hone his skills, the sidekick stabs his staff to the ground, catalyzing a cartwheel towards the table of training materials. Yielding a dull wooden knife, the youth tosses it toward the lower right side of the monitor with precision, igniting the picture before unleashing a powerful strike on the practice opponent.

"Thanks," replies the acute academician.

With the public reeling from the detestable developments of last dusk, the rampant reports are sure to reek of carnage and fear.

"_**The chilling scene at what was once the prestigious Iceberg Lounge is being touted as the 'Bloodbath of the Batman'. Several sources say that Gotham's Dark Knight along with his accomplices Batgirl and the gun-slinging vigilante, Red Hood, are responsible for the murders of the entire security staff along with deceased owner, Oswald Cobblepott. Police who arrived on the scene also claim that Robin, Nightwing and Red Robin, who is wanted for the assassination of Dr. Jonathan Crane, were spotted fleeing from the third story window." **_

Striking the wooden figure with forceful ferocity, Damian breaks the bo in two. Unbothered by the splintered staff, the resourceful lad retrieves the pulverized piece from the platform and continues to vent his violence on the mannequin with his batons.

"_**Earlier, we caught up with Gotham City Police Commissioner, James Gordon, to tell us what he feels about these recent grizzly crimes."**_

_"I can't comment on too much right now, but what I can say is that I swear to bring whoever is behind these murders to justice."_

_**"Are you saying that you don't believe the Batman to be behind all of these murders?"**_

_** "**__I'm saying that it's too early to make those claims with absolute certainty, but if the Batman is behind these crimes, there will be no hesitation to bring him in. Thank you…"_

Grunting with gripe, Damian casts the clubs to the ground and persists his pummeling of the fake figure with his bare hands.

_**"We also attempted to have a word with Batman enthusiast, Bruce Wayne, but he is currently overseas. While all of these brutal acts seem out of character for who many consider the savior of Gotham City, this reporter asks, is this a copycat? Or could this be what Gotham is to expect from our 'Dark Knight'? And, regardless, is this type of 'harsh justice' something that Gotham may need?"**_

With a roar of rage, the angered adolescent torques his hips and manumits a monstrous strike to the mannequin's head, decapitating the dummy. The wooden sphere slams into the side of the screen, startling Barbara as the picture perishes. The synthetic skull swirls down the floor before it is met by the feet of its mutilator's former partner, followed by the Wayne Manor manservant. The preceding keeper of the cowl retrieves the wooden block from the ground and fixes his focus upon Damian. The huffing heir locks his glaring eyes with that of his predecessor. The original accomplice of the Bat glances down toward the boy's hands. The young ward's eyes follow, noticing he blood dripping from his already wounded knuckles.

"That's enough for today, Damian…"

"I'm fine-"

"I said that's _enough,_" asserts the blue wing of the night. "Alfred…"

"I'll dress his wounds, sir," acknowledges the humble host. "Come, Master Damian," he invites, extending his arm in a welcoming manner.

Staring his prior partner down in discontent, the chagrined child accompanies the well-mannered waiter out of the cave.

"Whoa, serious Dick is serious," remarks wheelchair bound tech-whiz with wide eyes.

"Things are serious, Barb…" replies Grayson.

"It's funny how Bruce seems to come through to you when he's _not_ around," observes the Oracle.

"Speaking of Bruce, have you-?"

"No…" interrupts the impaired intellectual. "According to the system, he's receiving my distress signals. But he hasn't sent a reply… Dick, you don't think…?"

"Hey, Bruce can handle himself," he assures. "Now we need to handle _our_selves here so that if he is in any kind of trouble, we'll still be around to back him up."

After glancing downward with a sigh, Barbara nods, yielding to Dick's insight.

"Has Tim come out, yet?" asks the acrobat.

"'Fraid not," responds, Barbara. "With all those documents he got from Selina, what you guys saw last night and trying to fit Jason's role in this whole thing, he could been in there for a wee-"

"I GOT IT!" shouts the distant voice of a tumultuous teenager as he hastily hurries toward his cohorts.

"Spoke too soon…" mumbles the master of the mainframe.

"Hey, Timmy... You okay?" asks Nightwing, noticing the bloodshot eyes and ruffled hair of his comrade.

"Yea, yea, I'm fine. Just had a cup of coffee… or twelve."

"Twelve?!"

"Not important. But I figured it out, Dick! It's all so clear!" expresses the energetic egghead.

"You know Ra's' next target?" inquires the elder of the trio.  
"No…"

"So wait, you were in that room all day, dosing yourself with caffeine, and you don't know anymore about who or what Ra's and Talia are planning to hit next?"

" Jeeze, didn't you EVER read Sherlock Holmes? The _what_ and _who_ aren't important when predicting the next move of a suspect. It's the _why._ I know the _why_!"

"But we already knew _the why_," claims Grayson. "He's trying to paint us all as murderers so that the people of the city turn against us."

With a bite of his tongue, the crimson bird of Gotham turns on the television where he and his allies view a citizen is being interviewed on the street by reporters.

"_If you ask me, it's about damn time! I mean, how many years are we supposed to put these creeps behind bars just so they could get out and hurt more people? That Cobblepott ruined lives, and he just sat up there in his suite just livin' it up while us decent human beings are down here, sufferin'. Good riddance!" _

"Doesn't look like he's doing such a good job, then," states Tim after muting the screen. "He doesn't want to _frame_ Bruce, Dick. He wants to _replace_ him."

"But… what do you mean?" asks Barbara.

"Don't you get it? He's trying to show everyone that he can do it better, that his skewed sense of justice is what the world needs because it's '_more efficient'_. He's showing that he can apprehend and punish the villains in ways Bruce never could," explains the young detective. "Like last night, he killed Penguin right where he would be untouchable if he was to be arrested prosecuted through the legal system. It's all just a big statement against Bruce and the way he runs our whole operation."

Dick runs his finger across his lower lip, contemplating the validity Tim's words while observing the muted faces on the monitor before him.

"Alright," yields Dick. "Let's say this is all true and Ra's wants to become Batman… how does Jason fit into his master plan?

Tim dips his chin, exhaling with a heavy sigh.

"Besides the fact that Jason has been in the Lazarus Pit already… he's also Bruce's biggest failure," he explains. "Nothing would prove Ra's' point more than taking the '_fallen Robin'_ and turning him into his own, twisted version of what a hero would be…"

"I see…" proclaims Grayson, taking a moment to digest the revealing yet repulsive propositions presented to him while Barbara gently rubs his arm, hoping to soothe her comrade's concerns. "So, where do we start?"

"Right now, we just have to wait it out until something pops up," says Tim as he un-mutes the television, resuming the report.

_**"…the three hundred and fifty pound behemoth escaped Blackgate prison just days ago. Police say they believe he has fled the country, most likely heading back to his homeland in Santa Prisca…"**_

_**Bludhaven,**_

_**30 miles beneath "The Wall",**_

_**2:00 p.m.  
**_

Just as the grief pursuing the pain of loss must be postponed until the outcome is final, so must the celebration sequencing success.

The subtle breathing of the beast in Bludhaven emits from the fortress' training facility. Using only the strength of his fingers as support, the Demon King elevates his entire body toward the ceiling with his legs vertical, releasing a controlled breath of air as he does. Lowering himself until his nose nuzzles the mat, the ruler of rapine rolls forward to meet a mannequin assembled in armor before puncturing the tempered steel with his finger tips.

"Are you sure you wish to do this alone, father?" asks the distant voice of the Demon's daughter.

"It is rare that I am _unsure_ of anything, my dear," responds the king of carnage; removing his fingers from the synthetic adversary he turns to face his offspring. "I promise that no harm will come to me, darling. Stay focused on the tasks I've set for you in my absence and I will be back before tomorrow's dusk."

With subtle footsteps, the faithful Ubu enters the quarters.

"Your flight to _**Santa Prisca**_ awaits you, sire."


	13. A Battle of Brothers

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 13:**

**A Battle of Brothers**

_**Santa Prisca,**_

_**Punto De Tiburon**_

The wind is strong, yet subtle. The scent of salt water from the sea below enters the sovereign soldier's nostrils as the sumptuous green grass sways in the crisp, cool current. While the streaks of sunlight cast through the clear conduits in his mask bearing their beautiful reflection upon the radiant sea, this magnificent manor cannot shake the shameful shadows of its past. Similar to all cemeteries, superficial settings do little to settle the restless souls of the suffering. Particularly in the resting place of the Pena Duro prison camp. The memories manifested by the marvelous mercenary of the heinous horrors inflicted upon the inhabitants of the penitentiary are not quick to be quelled. It was not the disturbing dungeon that defaced the determined duelist, however, for it is the scarp on which he stands overlooking the ocean where he witnessed his mother's barren body being cast down into the shark infested sea like a discarded animal carcass. As he clenches the cleaved cranium of what was once a stuffed bear, a part of him cannot help but ponder on the idea that this restored paradise were…

"A decent place to die."

The wind hinders to a halt. The bewildered brute turns to face the fool that would dare disrupt his moment of mourn. Fronting the familiar figure before him, the pitiless pugilist inspects the peculiarity of his visitor.

"I would have expected more _decency_ from you, considering the circumstances of the time and place," retorts the resourceful ruffian, studying the somber spectacle. He gazes at his glooming guest's glowing green eyes before glancing at the cape draping over his shoulder, concealing the katana strapped to his hip. "Yet… you are not the same Bat that I ever would have expected now, are you?"

"As vigilant as ever. It is good to see you again, Bane," affirms the aphotic apparition as he approaches.

"Who are you?" requests Bane, recognizing the resonating voice of his visitor.

"Who am I? If only it were that easy to unmask The Detective the first time," mocks the murky monstrosity.

In an instant, the prodigal pugilist processes the somber specter's speech, confounded by his conclusion.

"No…"

The stygian spectacle secretes a devious smile, delighted at the deductive abilities of the aggressive assailant.

"While I may not be the Bat you expected, do not mistake me for a mockery. I am far from following the faculties of the first, particularly in the sense that I am…" he removes his cowl, "_…unbreakable_."

Stunned, the stupefied soldier stares stricken at the sight of his previous partisan.

"Ra… Ra's? It can't be…"

"Do not let my youth fool you, old friend. It is indeed I," assures the atrocious assassin.

"But… why?" wonders the baffled brute.

"Repulsion, revelation and revolution. I'm aware that my reply lays cause more query, but the summation of your role in my quest comes down to this... I'm here, to kill you, Bane," confesses the callous killer.

The gladiator's gaze dilates in disbelief. He averts his eyes, comprehending the caliginous cutthroat's words before clenching his fists with fury.

"I was born here. An innocent child, I stayed incarcerated in Pena Duro for the crimes of my father. He was a man who died honorably, fighting for what he believed in. I was but a fetus in my mother's womb… and my life was already dictated through persecution. After the death of my mother, I had to fend off the molesters and child rapists with a knife I kept in the head of my stuffed animal, Osito, until I could become strong enough to fend for myself. You know this, you've heard the tales of the _atrocities_ that I was forced to suffer, yet you disturb me as I mourn the passing of my mother to kill me in the very place that is the pit of my misery while wearing the symbol of he who I despise the most?" asks the maddened militant before shifting his focus to the ferocious fiend. "You call me friend, yet you would provide me less honor than you would a dog…"

"You are a son of the Lazarus Pit, Bane. I could never dishonor you," explains brilliant butcher. "This life you've lead, being born and raised in a hell on earth, molding into the tactical genius you were destined to become has driven you to accomplish amazing feats, such as defeating the Batman in single combat. This fortune fell quickly, however, for your victory only allowed him to return, stronger, and place you into yet another cell to waste away. In an effort for your life to remain relevant, you've gone from brilliant warrior to just another escaped convict of Gotham for Batman and his successors to constantly retain. Thus they serve as a steady reminder to the misery that was your early life, turning your very existence into a hell on earth. They should have granted you an honorable death, old friend. The end of your damnation in the defeat of your campaign. I wish to free you. Like Genghis Khan, whose life ended where is conquest began in Xi Xia, I will end the life of another great warrior where he began in Santa Prisca."

"So that's it, then? You expect me to stand by while you _honor_ me with the edge of your sword?"

"Not in the slightest," retorts the ruthless rogue, unclipping his blade as it falls to the flatland. "I intend to honor you with the very discipline that has allowed you to succeed where you have. Unarmed combat."

"After all of these centuries, you still have yet to find peace, Ra's," remarks the relentless ruffian, lending a last look to the toy in his clutch before casting it to the ground. "May we each find the justice we seek. One in life, the other in death."

"That, my friend, is inevitable," states the sadistic slayer, unclipping his utility belt, allowing his attire to plummet onto the plateau.

Activating the control key on his wrist, the rugged rioter releases the potent steroid, Venom, through the transparent tubes in his mask. The enhancing elixir enters directly into boisterous brawler's brain, causing his eyes to bulge, bloodshot with rage. Ra's remains focused as he unfastens his cuffs and casts them aside. Bane's muscles begin to swell as the aggressive assailant's strength arrives at capacity. Removing the raiment resting on his shoulders, the connoisseur of carnage covers his cranium with the cowl once again, igniting his green gaze. Crepuscular clouds obscure the shimmering streams of sunlight as the adept adversaries prepare to clash.

"_**Shall we?**_" growls the feral fighter as he grinds his teeth.

The long living liquidator lowers his stance, readying for the raging ruffian's attack, signaling the start of the duel.

The raving rival rushes toward Ra's, his stomps so substantial the soil sinks beneath his steps. Unveiling an untamed haymaker, the barbarous bruiser misses his mark as the artful assassin aviates through the air, landing a robust roundhouse kick to Bane's jaw. Spinning with the strength of the strike, the capable combatant counters with a back fist as the baleful butcher plants himself on the plain. Ra's evades the oncoming onslaught, rushing to his right beneath the blow before vaulting once again, bashing Bane in the temple, twisting his bodyweight behind the punch. Tasting the blood leaking from his lip, the sadistic scrapper snarls with umbrage, unleashing an uppercut at his opponent. The slick slaughterer steps backward, the breeze of the blow brushes passed the nip of his nose before catapulting another kick to his competitor's leg. Ra's' calf lands cleanly on Bane's thigh, but the barbaric battler doesn't budge. Propelling another punch while Ra's has not yet planted his foot, the merciless mercenary finally finds his intended target, but not before Ra's can cross his arms, blocking the blow that sends him sliding backwards.

"_**All I need to do is get a hold of you, Ra's!**_" declares the depraved duelist. "_**Then we'll put your immortality to the test!"**_

Lowering his arms, allowing the effulgence of his emerald eyes to bear brightly, the ominous executioner observes his opponent hastening towards him once more, snarling as his steps quake the scarp. The cunning killer crouches low, sprinting toward his enormous enemy, absent of fear. Cocking his arm backward, Bane dispatches a devastating strike with his humungous hand. Ra's propels from the plain, soaring through space before colliding both kneecaps into his combatant's cranium. As the bulky brute reels backward from the devastating drive of the strike, Ra's hooks his hands on the back of Bane's head, delivering a second strike with both knees. Just as the belligerent bruiser clasps his competitor's waist, Ra's quickly ascends his arms before driving his firm fingers downward, penetrating his opponent's shoulders, separating the sockets. Bane drops the daunting demon to the ground as he grimaces in agony. Collapsing to one knee as he collides with the soil, the sadistic slayer braces his elbows closely to his body, fortifying his already bloodied fingers before thrusting them into Bane's thighs, piercing through his skin, separating the joint connecting to his pelvis. Paralyzed, the previously frightening fighter crumbles forward in pure pain. Shaking the blood from his fingers in a single swipe, the emerald eyed emperor rises to face his fallen opponent. Moaning in misery as his body shutters in shock, the tormented titan turns his head to gain a final glimpse of the aqueous crypt that keeps his mother's ghost.

"_**You were right, Ra's… This is a decent place to die…**_"

The Demon Head positions one palm atop his fallen friend's skull, while the other cradles his chin.

"He that like a Lacedemonian, or Romane, accounteth Infamy worse than death, would be loath to emprove his courage, or to employ his patience, in digestinge the pestilent _**bane**_ of his life," quotes the master of murder.

Mustering all of his might, Ra's torques his hips, snapping the neck of his broken brother. Bane topples as his lifeless eyes excrete a final tear.

A gust of wind wisps across the cliff as the sky washes its contour of clouds, allowing the sun to glisten along the sea once more.

The depraved devil dons his eerie apparel again while the whisking draft dies down.

"I'm ready for pick-up," he reports, pressing the earpiece in his cowl.

The copter arrives quickly before the steadfast servant, Ubu, scurries to his master.

"You will retain his body with great care," commands the cunning killer as he cuts the tubes at the top of his deceased comrade's cranium with the blade on his gauntlet.

"Of course, master," replies the loyal laborer.

Ra's removes the monumental mask, making his way to the edge of the cliff while Ubu continues on with his task. Upholding the remaining fragments of his friend's former toy, the demonic deviant drops the stuffed head into the leather mask before tossing them both into the sea.

"Rest easy, brother..."


	14. Dungeon of Dementia

_**The League of Bats**_

**Chapter 14:**

**Dungeon of Dementia**

_**Bludhaven,**_

_**30 miles beneath "The Wall"**_

It is an ambitious attempt for the admiral of an army to advance his aspirations when fighting a fray on multiple fronts. In the age of our ancient ancestors, emperors would embark fearlessly with but a fraction of their forces to encounter one enemy, while the remainder of their regiment rallied the engagement on the other end. To convince a cavalry detached from their dignitary to lease their lives for the ideals of an individual that may have met his own end in endeavors elsewhere, requires a ruler to inspire a faith inconceivable to the inhabitants of the current century. Of the few factions following in the footsteps of these forerunners, the premiere platoon resides in the refuge of Ra's Al Ghul.

Arriving back at his burrow, following his battle with Bane, the evil exterminator enters his establishment, arousing the attention of his offspring as she is observing the petal of a flower from beneath a microscope.

"You're back," announces the alluring assassin, adhering to her ferocious father's side.

"Of _course_ I am," retorts Ra's.

"Yes… forgive me, father. Your victory was never a concern," ensures the elegant eliminator. "I was merely-"

"Do you have him, Talia?" interrupts the inexorable killer.

"…Yes, father," responds the ravishing temptress. "Jason is looking after him in the holding quarters. We abducted him on the Gotham Bridge, just where you said he'd be."

"Of course you did," says the baleful butcher before turning down the hall that heads to the holding quarters, departing from his daughter.

Reaching the room at the cusp of the corridor, the merciless murderer enters the enclosure. The callous killer observes the obdurate outlaw, towering above their confined captive. Slowly, the cruel criminal rotates his head towards Ra's, the lackluster lambency of the exterior emanation from the opening shines off the slick surface of his helmet while the burgundy blood trickles from leather tarp covering his knuckles.

"You're done here," orders the ominous overlord.

The grisly gunman glances back at the pitiful prisoner before embarking toward the exit.

"He's a real whacko," states the scandalous scofflaw as he walks past the sadistic swordsman, removing his gloves. "You two will get along great."

"In a mad world, only the mad are sane," remarks Ra's, causing the cold convict to cease before sealing the passage behind him.

Before the baleful butcher lies a bald man bent forward, hanging by his arms, constrained in chains. Blood drips from his mouth, mixed with saliva, leaving his lower lip in long, spindly strands as he lifts his head, clearly weak from the abuse previously placed upon him.

"Ah… finally," says the slender slave. "So you're the devil who runs this hell, eh?" The lanky lunatic lowers his head as he laughs, heaving in the process. "It's no surprise that I've ended up in your personal prison. I'm just curious as to why it took this long…" he expresses, exuding exhaustion in his speech.

"Your permanent detainment is indeed overdue, but you mistake me for another who had attempted before," states the ancient assassin as he approaches.

"You're not Batman…" whispers the crazed captive, scrupulously studying the soulless slaughterer's face. "But you are… similar to him. Not only in costume, but you're also… alive… d_etermined. _You serve purpose, unlike the rest."

"It is true; I am not like the rest. But neither are you, Victor Zsasz," says the murderous monarch, arresting his advance.

"Is that right?" asks the insane inmate with a slothful snicker. "And how did you guess that?"

"The same way I _guessed_ that after the deaths of your parents, you had lost everything to the Penguin. You questioned your existence, gazed at your reflection as you stood over the edge of the Gotham Bridge, contemplating diving to your death, realizing that you had simply coasted through life without desire or passion, having nothing to show of yourself and therefore, you lacked purpose. Deeming all life meaningless, you have since determined your destiny as the liberator of humanity's monotony. _Freeing the zombies,_ as you've so eloquently put it. Since I killed Cobblepott, however, you have begun contemplating once again," explains the expert executioner, kneeling to the neurotic nut-case's level.

"So you're the one who liberated Cobblepott," states Zsasz. "You really _aren't_ like the other Bat. He could never see the benefit of releasing the zombies of their _purposelessness_. You'd have to be a seasoned killer to get to Cobblepott, though. I must say, bravo. I'd have gotten to him myself sooner or later, just like the others. But I prefer the females, myself. Lady's first, as they say," affirms the mad maniac with an eerie inflection.

"While I may not agree with the Detective's methods, do not mistake me for agreeing with yours, either," remarks the somber slayer.

"No? But we're so similar, you and I. Two predators, relieving society of their droll sense of importance… what have we to disagree over?"

"Plenty," declares the demonic death dealer. "You punish those for not seeing, before attempting to open their eyes."

"If you expect me to believe that you attempted to make _Cobblepott _see reason before slaying him with that beautiful blade of yours, than you mistake me for a fool," retorts the demented delinquent, giggling dismissively.

"Oh no, Victor. I have not mistaken your foolishness," mocks the merciless murderer. "I know, because I once possessed an outlook similar to yours. I believed it beneficial to commit worldwide genocide, ridding the world of its inhabitants, hoping to breed a new era of humanity with my vision. With the Detective thwarting my plans, however, I had a chance to re-evaluate my options. The way he was able to rally followers who believed in his cause, cleansing corruption to the extent he had with his flawed view of justice while raising legitimate champions of his regime who now lead campaigns of their own elsewhere. Suddenly, it seemed a waste to wipe out a world that held such… potential."

"You see potential in the insignificant _filth_ that walks this earth? In those… _**zombies**_?" ridicules the crazed captive, spitting to the floor with scorn. "Clearly, I am not the _foolish _one in this room,"

"But you are," assures the aphotic autocrat, drying the scarlet spittle from Zsasz's chin with the cape cast over his shoulder. "Not only because you would waste the opportunity of utilizing the prosperity possible within current society, but that you put forth the _façade_ of _your _life possessing meaning, when you are caught in the most repetitive cycle of all."

"… You don't know what you're talking about," says the schizophrenic psycho, averting his view.

"Oh, but I do. And so do you," persists the pitiless persecutor. "You cannot turn away from me, _Zsasz._ I will _make _you face the truth in knowing that your life is a part of an endless circle... a _useless game_."

"S-stop…" warns Victor.

"In your juvenile attempt to find value in your own existence, you've become but another victim, coursing through the ecosystem of Gotham City that _he_ created."

"I said, _stop…"_

"You couldn't bear accepting that Batman had, in fact, reassured your life's monotony. Obtaining you, incarcerating you in an asylum from which you could frequently escape, serving as mere fodder for his amusement again, and again, and again, _and again!_

"I-I'm _**not**_ hearing this…"

"Before they captured you on the bridge and brought you here, all you could see as you stared at the obscured reflection in the sea below was the aura of a man whose ambitious intent was so far gone, he may as well have jumped off that bridge all those years ago!"

"_**I**_… _**said**_…_**STOOOOP!**_" demands the sadistic sociopath, screaming sonorously, yanking the chains that bind him before bowing his head in sorrow, succumbing to tears.

Ra's lifts the crazed killer's cranium as he weeps. A green glow glistens from Zsasz's moistened eyes as they meet the ember emissions of gratuitous gerent's gaze.

"He'll stare into your eyes, tell you that you are wrong, that your vision is skewed, yet he will do nothing to help you see the truth. Branding you a psychopath, he tosses you in a cell to rot, deeming you incurable." The lurid liquidator leans closer to the lanky lunatic, lowering his tone. "I am here to tell you that you are _not _sick. That your _disease_ is a myth. You merely seek peace with yourself in a world that denies it of you. I can give you that, Victor."

"H… how?"

The ominous overlord unclips the katana from his belt.

"It is true, what you said earlier. I did not give Cobblepott a chance to redeem himself in life, but through the sentence of death, I've given him something far more valuable than redemption." The ancient assassin ascends his saber before Zsasz. "_**Purpose**_."

"I… I don't understand," remarks the confused convict.

"Cobblepott's end proved vital to my conquest of replacing Batman in Gotham by serving as an example of my ability to rid the city of a parasite that the Detective had yet to apprehend," explains the evil executioner. "His punishment provided purpose to Batman's ultimate demise. As will yours…"

"S-so… you're going to kill me?" asks Zsasz, beholding the black blade.

"No," declares the demonic devil, setting the saber aside. "When I killed Penguin, it was intimate, painful and somewhere he thought himself untouchable. All are concepts of conflict that he feared. Judging from the scars on your skin, it is obvious that you do not fear the torment of torn flesh."

"…Then… what are you going to do to me?" wonders the wiry wacko with worried eyes.

Ra's raises his hands to the sides of sick psycho's skull, resting his fingers on Zsasz's temples.

"Striking either of these two vitals can have dire effects on the brain," explains the expert eliminator. "The shock waves sent from these nerves can render you unconscious, induce seizures and, in some instances, kill you. However, I've developed a technique where striking both areas simultaneously with the small surface area of my finger while using the precise amount force will, in turn, cause the victim to become… _catatonic_."

"You… you mean…?"

"Yes, Victor. I sentence you to become the very entity of which you've accuse your victims. A _**mindless zombie**_.

"P… please. Please don't…" begs the crazed captive.

"That is the justice that is deserved, Victor. Not only for your victims, but for you, as well. I promise that in embracing an end that encompasses what you fear most, you will have served more purpose than you ever could have otherwise," assures the atramentous autocrat.

"No… there must be another way!" shouts Zsazs.

Ra's removes his cowl, clasping his hands on the fibrous freak's face and staring into his eyes.

"Look at me!" commands the calculated killer. "You said before that I was different. That I was _determined_," he states. "I need you to face me now as I ask you, would someone as determined as I to achieve my destiny waste the time to convince you that your sacrifice would not be in vain if it weren't true? _**Tell me!**_" urges the unholy demon, jerking the crazed killer's cranium in his grip.

Zsasz looks deeply into the gratuitous gerent's gaze before the stress of his tensed eyebrows relieves in relaxation.

"Y-You… you really mean it, don't you?" he responds with a tranquil tone.

"I've no need to lie to you, Victor. You have my word that when the new world is birthed in our image, when humanity has found its purpose once again, they will look back and remember those that gave everything, _thankful_ for what the earth has become," assures the ebony emperor before touching his finger tips to Zsasz's temples. "Are you ready, my friend? Are you ready to take this journey in peace, having finally accepted your destiny?"

Drawing a deep breath, the deranged fiend releases the air from his lungs in relief, revealing the slightest of smiles.

"I'm ready…"

_**Gotham City,**_

_**Batcave**_

Honing their skills of skirmish, the preceding sidekicks spar as the Oracle operates at the abacus, attempting to aid in assessing any information available through automation.

"Tim… Dick… _**GUYS!**_" shouts the master of the mainframe, mesmerized by the monitor to her left.

Canceling their contest of combat, the confidants of the Bat approach the astounded academician as she increases the volume of the newscast for all to hear.

_**"I'm standing here on London Avenue at address 1906, where book store owner, Jack Macmillan, discovered what police confirm as the body of escaped convict and renowned eco-terrorist, Bane. The corpse of the criminal was placed in front of the establishment prepared delicately as if for some sort of grieving event, holding a wolfsbane flower in his hands placed gently over his chest. Due to the injury inflicted on the villain turned victim, police are indeed now deeming the case a homicide. Bane is the third in a string of murders all connected to adversaries the Batman. While detectives are refusing to jump to conclusions, it is safe to say that the 'Gotham's Knight' is undoubtedly a prime suspect."**_

Dumbfounded in disbelief and disappointment, the city's safeguard searches for answers none can articulate.

"It's time to face the fact that we aren't gonna figure this out by ourselves," suggests the scarlet savior as he retracts from his comrades. "We need help…"


End file.
